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sqyyadina · 5 months ago

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A JOINT PRAYER.

Pairing: Lorraine Warren X Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Tags: fluff, first kiss, period - typical homophobia.

Summary: You weren't raised to worship any God, but Lorraine Warren is starting to make you believe.

Author’s Note: I'd take a bullet for this woman. This is also on my AO3!

“We’d like to take you to the movies tonight. To thank you.”

Her voice is as honey as her perfectly curled hair, and as Lorraine hands you a porcelain cup of tea, you revel in the way your hands briefly ghost past each other.

Though you’ve worked as a secretary for the Warrens for well over a year now, you can’t help but feel intimidated as you sit on their plush couch, nursing your tea, the smiling couple sitting beside you. Their combined gaze is nearly suffocating, as if you are consumed by a demon of your own and they’re trying to rid you of it.

“Thank me? Whatever for?” You ask gently, head cocked to the side in question while you sip on the chamomile you’ve been offered.

“You’ve been a great help to us as of late.” Ed adds, a protective hand patting his wife’s thigh. You hate to admit it, you do, he’s truly a lovely man, but every time Ed begins to speak, you just wish he was out of the picture entirely. You wish that could have been your thumb rubbing circles into Lorraine’s plaid skirt; your lips pressing a kiss to her forehead wrinkle every time she got too focused on her Bible.

But it wasn’t you.

It was him, and it would always be him. You saw the way they looked at each other, the way he sang to her when he thought they were alone in the office. They were practically destined to be together. It’s cliché to say that it made you sick, but there genuinely were nights in which you felt feverish over the fact that Lorraine Warren would never be yours.

“Oh, you flatter me…” You hum back, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ears. “Really, all I do is organize files… how much of a help can that be?”

You’re much more sheepish than the two sitting across from you, and it shows. Lorraine, ever the investigator, the curious mind, always searching across the face of the person she’s speaking to as if it’s a map into their soul, picks up on your shyness immediately. She always does.

You know that Lorraine has a nurturing spirit, but you rarely expect her comforting gestures. That’s what makes it so special. That’s why it gives you pause when she leans forward to press a warm hand to your knee.

“Please, don’t deprecate yourself.” Her tone is stern, like she truly means to command you into being kinder to yourself, but her voice is so delicate and her smile so warm and inviting that you soften into her minimal touch and nod your head. “Really, you have no idea how having you around has improved our lives.”

You feel your face turn hot at that last sentence, and you fail to maintain eye contact with the older woman any longer. Gently bouncing you heeled foot against the ground, you giggle lightly, and bat a hand as if to dismiss what she’s said.

“You’re too kind…” You hum back, slowly lifting your head again to meet her gaze once again. At this point, you’ve all but forgotten that Ed is even present. “I’m not sure I believe you, but I’d love to go to the movies.”

It’s without pause that Ed claps his hands together and rises to his feet. He says something, quite loud, but you quickly forget what it is. It startles you, to say the least, and you jump back a bit, your tea threatening to slosh onto your blouse. You notice that Lorraine’s hand stays put on your thigh, though, and only leaves once it’s given you a few gentle pats to settle your nerves. She stands as well, always following her husband’s footsteps. You quickly join them, always following Lorraine’s.

“Let’s see something scary!” Ed grins, searching around the room for a newspaper that may have the local theater’s lineup.

“Oh, do you not get enough of a fright out of our daily lives?” Lorraine jokes with that tender laugh of hers, patting her husband on the back and looking at the paper over his shoulder.

“No, I don’t.” Ed replies simply, and plants a kiss on Lorraine’s cheek.

It makes your stomach turn.

“What would you like to see, dear?” You realize that she’s turned her attention back to you. You stumble forward, as if both of your legs had gone numb in the few moments that you had spent sitting on the couch.

You really do hate to agree with Ed, but most of the movies offered sound utterly boring. The thought did cross your mind that watching a horror film would allow you to look to Lorraine for comfort under the guise of fear, which immediately influenced your decision. Sufficed to say, the Warrens’ ghost stories had both satiated your hunger for fright, and completely desensitized you to it, yet you figured you could act scared enough to win a little more of Lorraine’s touch.

Your first few weeks, of course, you had been absolutely terrified of the previously haunted artifacts that your employers always brought home, but with the fervor of their exorcisms and the frequency of their jobs, there isn’t a whole lot that you hadn’t seen nor heard. You had become primarily neutral when it came to horror, but maybe that was because of Lorraine’s calming presence and Ed’s story-telling ability that made the murderous dolls much less terrifying.

“I think I’d like something scary. It is almost Halloween, after all.” You smile to the older woman before pointing to a certain line of text. “This one has the word ‘massacre’ in the title… I don’t believe you can get much scarier than that!”

Ed quickly makes his approval known, and Lorraine playfully rolls her eyes at him before giving his arm a light squeeze.

“I suppose that’s alright.” She hums, her eyes focusing on the page for a second longer. You’ve always known Lorraine to be the bookkeeper of their operation, and suspected she was always the one in charge of appointment dates and important phone numbers. When she rattled off a list of movie times, Ed already having moved to re-read the sports section, your suspicions were proven right.

‘How about eight?” you muse, looking down at your wrinkled dress and chipping nail polish. “It will give me time to change. And fix my hair… and my nails…” You had expected the weather to be bearable this time of year, but you had been burdened by particularly warm weather that caused your hair to frizz uncontrollably. You certainly shouldn’t have chanced long sleeves.

Lorraine, leaving her husband to his muttering about the Yankees, took the half step closer to place her hand on your shoulder. It was shockingly warm, but not at all a warm that you disliked. A comforting warm, that you could enjoy even on a day as sweltering as this one.

“You look beautiful.” She hums, nearly whispering it, as if she doesn’t want anyone else in the world to hear. “As always.” Lorraine adds before disappearing behind your back. She’s picked up your now empty teacup and makes her way to living room door. “We’ll pick you up at seven thirty.” She winks in your direction before exiting the room.

Your knees feel numb, and you try your hardest to wipe the dumb smile off of your face, but it doesn’t disappear, even as you crawl into your car and turn on the radio that just happens to be playing some cheesy love song.

The honking from outside startles you. That’s easy to say; there’s not a lot that doesn’t startle you. You just hadn’t expected them to be so punctual.

You had been sitting in front of your mirror for a little over an hour now, staring at every little detail of your visage to make sure everything was just right, even down to the placement of your beauty marks. It was honestly quite hard to focus, what with Lorraine’s compliment ringing in your ears. You didn’t even need to apply any rouge to your cheeks, they were still so hot.

Now donning a shorter sleeved blouse and a much lighter weight skirt, hair re-curled and nails painted perfectly, you cheerfully snatched your bag and raced out the front door.

Wiggling into the back seat of their fancy new Chevy that Ed couldn’t stop bragging on, you shoot a smile at Lorraine, who returns it through the rearview mirror. You quickly look away after that, yet you can still feel her eyes bore into you. You might just be making that up, but you’re far too scared to glance back up and check.

The drive is primarily quiet, save for Ed’s singing along to the radio, and you even find yourself enjoying his presence for once. He really does sound like Elvis when he tries hard enough.

By the time you arrive at the theater, your heart is racing. Something about sitting in Lorraine’s presence for more than ten minutes at a time causes you a great deal of panic. Despite knowing the woman all this time, you still find her completely enthralling, yet endlessly terrifying.

When she exits the car first to open your door with a playful smile, you feel your pounding heart drop to your stomach. You felt like you were on a date, except your date had brought her husband along. Plus, there’s simply no reality in which said date reciprocates the ways in which you are feeling for her. It’s a very hard pill for you to swallow, but you’ll need to keep reminding yourself that you in fact are not going steady with this woman, but are in fact her employee, and should be furiously professional tonight, no matter what.

It's when you step out of the car that you deeply regret your outfit decision for the second time today. The day had quickly turned to night before you had realized, and the evening’s chill was starting to settle in. You hug yourself tightly as the three of you enter the theater, trying desperately to distract yourself from the cold by figuring out what you’d like to eat.

Your unease must’ve been immediately noticed by the woman that notices absolutely everything that happens around her, because it’s within seconds that you feel a sweater draped over your shoulders. You perk up and whip your head to the side only to catch Lorraine smoothing down your collar.

“I brought an extra, just in case.” She winks at you again, a knowing smirk on her lips. She must’ve picked up on how haphazardly you tend to make decisions, and you appreciated it more than Lorraine could ever know. It wasn’t often that people remembered much about you, so for her to be so prepared for you made your chest swell.

Lorraine sweater is just heavy enough to feel like a hug, and it smells heavenly. Just like her. You don’t want to seem like a weirdo, but you’d be perfectly content to spend the next hour with your nose buried in the soft material, surrounded by the warm vanilla scent of whatever expensive perfume Lorraine wears. Or maybe she just naturally smells that good. You wouldn’t put it past her.

Your attention turns back to the giant menu board as you pull your arms through the sleeves of the sweater, and right away you could feel your brain go silent. It was impossibly difficult for you to decide, especially when there were so many options. That, paired with the steep prices and the very lackluster salary you make as the Warrens’ glorified secretary, make your brain completely stop its functioning for a second. Your worry makes its way into your hands, which fiddle with the sleeves of the sweater that are just an inch too long for your arms.

Lorraine, yet again magically anticipating your every need, places a firm hand on the small of your back, lowering herself to practically purr into your ear.

“Do you need help choosing?” She’s just close enough that her voice, as low as it is, drowns out all of the madness of the bustling theater, and the commotion inside your mind. `

You nod up to her, chewing on your lower lip as the two of you glance over the menu together.

“I can’t decide…” you begin, eyebrows furrowed as you dart over the row of boxes of candy before you. “… between chocolate or popcorn.” You’re getting dangerously close to the front of the line now, and it’s really beginning to wear on your nerves, but Lorraine’s ringed fingers lightly rubbing into your back is calming you tenfold.

The taller woman laughs gently, and you wince a little in fear that she’s making fun of you for having difficulty with something so simple, but you’ve never known Lorraine to be a cruel woman, so the thought is easily dismissed.

“Silly girl.” She says gingerly, giving you a light pat before dropping her hand. “Get both. I’ll make sure Ed pays for it.”

Your cheeks burn once again, and while you yearn for the feeling of her hand to replace itself anywhere on you, you find that Lorraine is already a gift from God and there’s no use praying for any more from the woman.

“Thank you!” you giggle softly, returning the clairvoyant’s playful smile with one of your own as you step forward to the concession counter.

Ed begins rattling off all the things that he wants, and it’s yet again that you remember he’s even there. You figure that if a man as boisterous as Ed Warren can be so easily forgotten in your mind by the likes of his wife, you must truly be under a spell. You shyly give your order when Lorraine ushers you in front of her, hands fiddling with your sleeves again. When you begin to reach for your purse, a hand lightly swats at your own. You really don’t find it necessary for the people that already pay your living wage to give you anymore, and yet you don’t deem it possible that Lorraine will let you pay for anything yourself.

With treats and tickets in hand the three of you make your way into the theater, Ed taking the exact seats that you would have chosen yourself. It’s by a miracle— or rather very careful planning on your behalf— that you’re sitting next to Lorraine, with Ed on her other side. You silently cheer yourself on for what you believe to be such careful maneuvering, because there is just no way in the world that you would spend the next two hours sitting next to someone who will probably talk over the entire movie anyway.

You settle in as the opening credits of the film begin, and right away you feel anxious. Even in a room full of people and the ever so comforting presence of your favorite demonologist by your side, it’s hard not to be scared in a dark room watching a movie about a psycho killer. Your leg begins to bounce nervously as you begin shoveling popcorn in your mouth, anticipating the many scares that are soon to come your way.

And they do come, in multitudes. You’re jumping out of your seat nearly every minute that goes by. The Warrens, as cemented in their occupations as they are, jump a few times as well, which comes as quite the comfort. You had seen them frightened before, when assessing houses for possible spirits, but neither seemed to be as much of a scaredy cat as you.

You’re granted the solace of Lorraine’s hand when she offers it to you about halfway through the movie. It’s after you jump at the sudden sound of a chainsaw revving up, and she must take pity on you, but you don’t care about the implication because you take the hand as quickly as it’s offered. As you’re sitting to her left, you notice that she’s come to the theater with her signature rosary wrapped around her hand. The cool beads do give you a bit of alarm when you first feel them, but then you realize that it only comes as added protection. You’re not sure what the power of the Spirit can do for you in this moment, but you’re very happy that Lorraine is always prepared against whatever dark forces she’s prepared against.

Sitting next to her, hand-in-hand, Lorraine’s gravitational pull is so strong that eventually you find yourself fully leaned against her arm, gripping her hand for dear life. It doesn’t seem to bother her one bit, and if the lights were any brighter, you’d be able to notice a smile planted firmly on her rosy lips.

Just as you feel yourself in a safe position, completely relaxed and feeling entirely safe (or as safe as you can feel during a movie like this), the movie’s third act kicks into gear and you feel your heart start to beat about a million beats a second. You feel a wave of panic wash over you, and it came out of absolutely nowhere. You swallow hard a few times, looking around the theater to keep yourself calm, to remind yourself that there’s not really a chainsaw wielding maniac running around the place, but it doesn’t do much to settle your nerves.

Before you even notice the stinging in your eyes, before you can stop from embarrassing yourself, your cheeks are wet with tears. You swipe at them a few times with your free hand, hoping to not draw too much attention to yourself as you begrudgingly pull yourself from Lorraine’s grasp.

“I… I’ll be right back.” You whisper next to her ear, praying to God that she didn’t notice the crack in your voice.

You can hear her whisper something back, but not well enough to register it, because you’re already out of your seat and rushing to the bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror, you assess the damage to your makeup.

Your mascara has run down to your neck, and your lips are all smudged from your nervous popcorn eating.

… And you had left your purse, with all of your extra makeup and tissues, beneath your seat.

You felt on the verge of a breakdown, but the very last thing you wanted to do right now was to sit on the floor of this horribly rotten bathroom and cry until your eyes gave out.

You had been staring at yourself in the mirror between broken sobs for God knows how long until you heard someone else enter. Deeply ashamed of your appearance, you turned your back to the door, using a damp towel to try and clean up your makeup.

Then you heard a lock click.

But it was unlike the lock of a stall door.

Then the echoing tap of a pair of kitten heels.

You tense up, too scared of embarrassment to turn around to face whatever movie attendee, or, as you now feared, possible murderer, you were now trapped in this bathroom with.

That’s when you felt the hand press against your back.

“Are you alright?”

That voice was too kind to belong to a murderer.

“Lorraine!” You nearly scream, tossing a hand over your heart to clutch the imaginary pearls that you couldn’t even afford if you tried. “My goodness, you startled me!” You laugh softly, sniffling while you turn to a sink to wash your hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” She hums, voice barely above a whisper. She’s standing right behind you now.

You’re awfully embarrassed to find that there are no more paper towels in the bathroom, and you have to wipe your hands on your skirt, but Lorraine doesn’t seem to notice.

No, her attention is solely on your face.

Her hand lifts up to push a wayward curl behind your ear. It lingers there for a moment, smoothing down the rest of your hair. Her other hand sneaks its way around your waist, resting just below your belt.

“I just wanted to check on you.” She flashes you that oh-so very endearing smile in the mirror, and lightly runs her thumb below your eyes, wiping away the last remnants of your tears.

You swallow hard, chancing a glance up to her only to miss the woman’s gaze, as her eyes are now glued to your cheek, then your neck. She’s petting your hair, and each stroke is sending a shiver down your spine.

“Oh no, no… I’m alright…” you manage to mumble out, your voice a mere breathe that hitches when Lorraine’s hands maneuver you to turn to face her.

“Good.” She purrs, leaning in until your foreheads nearly meet. “I wouldn’t want my baby to get too scared.”

Dear God.

You didn’t often take His name in vain, but this felt an appropriate time to do so.

Your heart is beating so hard that you’re worried you may pass out.

She called you her baby. You were hers.

Your body betraying you, you practically melt into the taller woman, your hands finding themselves on her hips, holding onto the material of her skirt for dear life.

Lorraine calculates, as is her way, but only for a moment, before her hand slides down to gently grasp your cheek and pull you closer into her.

You gasp into her, her lips latching onto your own before you can even remind yourself that you were meant to remain professional tonight. It seems you’re well past the concept of professionalism by now.

It takes you a moment, a very brief moment, to soften into her kiss. You’re like putty in her hands, molding into the curve of her chest and pressed so hard against her that you’re sure you’ve become one being.

But you haven’t, and before you know it, she’s pulled away.

It takes everything within you to not whine and fuss at her for being so rude as to pull herself away from you.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” She says rigidly, fixing her hair in the mirror with one hand, the other still latched onto your hip. “But you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to.” She laughs a little, finally turning back to meet your gaze.

“I…” You’re at a loss for words. Never in a million years would you have expected for Lorraine Warren to waltz in and kiss you out of the blue like that. You must have truly racked up your good karma with the Lord, because this was enough to be considered a miracle. “I… I’ve also… wanted to… with you.” You stutter out, brain just barely conscious enough to put together a string of words.

Lorraine laughs her beautiful laugh again, her hand returning to caress your cheek.

You shut your eyes tight, laying all your weight into her hands. A thought crosses your mind – that she very well may be testing you – trying to sniff you out for being a freak – that there very well be someone right outside that door ready to ship you off to the loony bin –

That thought disappears almost immediately once Lorraine leans down to press her lips to yours again, this time much more confidently.

Her hands wander down to your hips once again, and yours are gripping into her skirt so hard that you’re sure you’ve left permanent wrinkles in the fabric. It’s impossible for you to be any closer to her now, and yet she’s still pulling you tighter, lips coaxing small whimpers from your own.

You’ve gone completely lightheaded now, the lack of oxygen making you a bit dizzy on your feet. Luckily, you’re so sustained by Lorraine’s embrace that there’s just no chance of you falling over.

Her hands threaten lower, her kisses become sloppier, her thigh situating itself between your legs so that you can press your weight there and feel a shock through your entire system unlike you’ve ever experienced before. Lorraine’s whispering some string of messy whispers. Maybe a prayer, much like the one you’re reciting in your own head for someone, anyone, to make this moment last until your dying breath.

Your joint prayer comes to a halt when you’re so rudely interrupted by an angry knock on the door. Lorraine quickly pulls away from you and immediately begins wiping her smudged makeup in the mirror.

You’re stuck in space, stood blinking, mouth hanging open, feet unsure of where to take you.

“Go get in a stall.” Lorraine commands, a gentle finger wiping at your tongue to collect all of the saliva that you had produced in the midst of your affair. She flashes you a sickeningly sweet look before turning you around and patting you towards the stall, where you quickly hide, being able to take her command even though you’re sure your brain can’t conjure any other actions.

Lorraine’s heels tap towards the door, and where she exclaims how sorry she is, how silly she must be for locking the door behind her. Her voice is so pure, so normal. You’re shocked that she can find herself so calm after an event that had nearly introduced you to your maker.

When you hear a stall door click shut, you make your escape, checking your appearance in the mirror just in case. You certainly look bewildered, a little frazzled, but nothing you can’t excuse under the guise of a scary movie.

When you return to your seat, Lorraine is sat with her hand in Ed’s, her eyes glued to the screen. You sit reluctantly, reaching for your popcorn.

It’s less than a minute before she has removed her hand from her husband’s and has given it back to you.

You’re smiling much too brightly, and you can tell that your clairvoyant is smiling just the same. You’re too focused on the way that her hand feels in your own to pay any attention to the God-forsaken movie playing in front of you.

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stardancerluv · 2 months ago

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What the Emperor Wants

Part 6

Summary: A new dynamic between and the reader who belongs to him. Things take place the dark of the night.

Notes/Warning: 18+, pinv consensual intercourse (be safe!), virginity lost, blood & a dagger is mentioned, ownership, womanhood is mentioned, worship and belief of old gods, mentions of someone that pays Geta in the middle of the night (no spoiler, please read!)

Strigil: to clean off the oils or soaps off a body. Sperlonga: where Julius Ceaser first emperor of Rome was born, Borghi più belli d'Italia: means the most beautiful village in Italy.

❤️s, reblogs, comments, feedback are all welcome! Thank you for reading. 💐

You felt as his eyes drifted over you.

"I am very proud of you today."

Licking his bottom lip, he bit it. He looked as of

he was thinking of what else needed to be said.

"You did not make me regret my decision."

"I am glad."

A smile curled his lips.

"Come here."

Your heart beat harder as drew closer.

"I wish to relax for the rest of the night."

He pointed to a bottle of oil.

"Rub that into my back. While you do so, using

your words like an artist, tell me where your

people come from."

"If that is what you wish."

"It is." He took a seat on a stone bench near you.”

"Rub that into my back. While you do so, using your words like an artist, tell me where your people come from."

"If that is what you wish."

"It is." He took a seat on a stone bench near you. Nearing the bottle you saw a very elegant strigil. When you picked it up, it scrapped against the marble table

"It's very sharp.'

"It is. So be careful, I do not wish to shed my blood tonight."

You nodded.

"If we are to shed any blood, it will be your womanhood."

"My womanhood." You echoed.

You had heard of it being possible but hearing it again made your stomach churn.

He turned more towards you from where he sat and looked at you. His hair cascaded over his brow like a sunset.

"Yes, it is the sacrifice that is made to the great gods of the heavens and to your emperor?”

"Yes, Geta. I understand:

"You better. I do not feel you are a hysterical girl.”

“I’ve never been known to be one.”

“Good.”

He sat once again with his back to it.

You placed the strigil down. You rubbed your hands together, warming them. You mother had always taught you it is better to touch with warmth then coolness.

Pulling the stopper you brought the bottle of the fine oil to your nose. Your eyes, grew.

“Sire?”

He didn’t move. “What did I say about that?”

“Geta,” You swallowed. “I am sorry.”

“It’s fine. It shows how well you have been trained.”

Even though you could not see it; you were convinced one of his cooler smiles curled his lips at that remark.

“Yes.”

“What is it? Why the pause?”

“The oil. It is the same used on me earlier.”

“Yes, yes it is.”

“But, but…” You voice trailed off as the words failed to be expressed.

“You belong to me. I will share the best with you when I choose it to be.”

“Oh?” A flutter went through you. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, don’t make me wait any further.”

“Yes, yes of course.”

You placed the bottle down, then once again rubbed your hands. A good spirit filled you at the thought. You would keep in a good temperament whenever you could.

Picking up the bottle, you poured some of the oil on your hands first, instead of just dribbling some on his back first. If had always felt more comforting when done this. You hoped he would feel the same way.

In the brief moment before your hands felt his shoulders, you were certain they tingled. Perhaps it was the goddess Venus blessing you tonight. You murmured a soft prayer to her and then laid your hands upon him.

Your heart felt like it would erupt from you. It was beating very hard.

Your hands drifted, rubbed and gently squeezed where it felt needed. His posture stopped being rigid after some time. But he didn’t utter a word, you took it as a sign he was enjoying himself.

Pausing for a breath, you poured some more oil onto your palm.

“Oh, yes. You have grown to silent.”

He looked at you over his shoulder. His profile sharper than the coins that attempted to bear his likeness

“You are to still tell me of where your family comes from.”

“Yes.”

You placed the bottle down once again.

You began to move your hands down lower on his strong back. A strong warmth burned him. It was the strength of the gods, you were certain of it.

“My family lived on the brink of forever. Where the water laps against golden sands are a brilliant and turquoise.”

“Does it go by the name Sperlonga?”

“Yes, Geta I was told that is its name.”

“You come from a mighty land. The great Tiberius came from that ground.”

“Our first Emperor, Geta?” You gad heard whispering among the elders.

“Yes, yes he was.” He paused. “Now, I know quite more about you.”

“Geta, I am confused.”

A chuckle came from him and he turned away but then moved more so he could face you.

“Borghi più belli d'Italia.”

He said simply, his tongue becoming elegant. He spoke of the sentiment you heard frequently of your village.

“And you, are also quite lovely. Your roots are from there. Though I would dare say being in Rome and working so closely to your emperor, only helped with your beauty. The goddesses and gods are kind to you.”

You trembled, you didn’t know what to say. You bowed your head.

“Thank you Geta.”

He nodded, before reaching for and grabbing the strigil.

“Time for you to finish.”

“Yes.” Though you placed it down.

You went to the plant with its large leaves and knowing which ones were dying, their edges browning, you pinched them off at the stem and brought them over and placed them under foot.

“For an easier clean.”

He nodded.

You took a breath, steadied your hand and soon scrapped away the layer of oil. His skin had a new radiance. His features, the strength underneath shone through. Once done you, wiped the strigil and placed it on the table and put the stopper back into the bottle.

He rolled his shoulder. He made a soft, pleasant sound and soon stood. Once again he was close and you were reminded of how he could tower over you. A smile was on his lips.

He brought your chin up. “You didn’t even prick the skin.”

“You warned me, so I kept my breath and was careful yet thorough.”

“Good for that.” His thumb caressed your jaw. “Remove your garments and go and lay in the bed.” His eyes narrowed. “On your back.”

You nodded. And he let you go.

Your heart had beat hard before, now more. Besides the bed is where you loosened the knots and undid the clasp that bore his profile. Not know where to go exactly, you went to its center.

He came over, he did the knot of his belt. Soon like falling leaves, his braccae fell to the ground, not far from where your garments laid.

He crawled over to you. Your stomach fluttered. Truly, the gods had been kind to him. He was trim and sharp like the staues artists have erected in his honor.

He came to rest beside you. “I will touch you now.”

“Yes Geta.”

Soft sounds came from you as his finger tips grazed from your cheek, to your throat to your chest. He cupped one of your breasts.

“Oh, it feels good. I am sure one day they would be good for a babe to suckle at.”

“I hope so.” Your voice shook. His touch was light, barely felt it. But made you very pleased. Soft sounds came from you.

A smile curled his lips.

His hand drifted over to where your heart was. You don’t know why but you shifted a breath.

His dark eyes found yours.

“My heart, is thudding hard.” It was all you could say, you were terribly breathless. Could barely hold onto one.

“That is how it is. You have not departed yet, from this world for the underworld blossom.”

“Oh?”

He nodded.

Moving back, his hand then splayed on your chest. He smiled. “See I felt it move faster. It is responding to me.”

“I believe so.”

His hand then traveled along the curve and softness of tour stomach.

“Your body pleasing me greatly.”

You nodded. “I am glad.”

You gasped, your eyes grew when you found his hand cupping you.

“This feels good.” He gave you a squeeze. “Soft, warm. Ready, to welcome me?”

“Yes.”

“Open your legs for me, bid me entrance.”

He climbed over you, the sight made tingles come from the very center. The sensations, were welcome but they did spread through you. In your breathless state, you glanced away from his magnificence.

“Am I so ill to the eye. Should I have warmed you with wine like my brother does with the dancers, he randomly beds?”

His words were sharp, they stung.

You quickly looked back. “No, Geta. It is just you are truly like a god before. And I can barely catch my breath. I do know what you shall want me to do.”

An edge remain but his words were softer.

“Let your body, let your heart lead. They will know what to do.”

“As you wish.”

Soon, with his free hand you felt as he opened you further so he could properly settle between your legs. The tingles, you had felt earlier caused a needy ache in you. Perhaps, it was that part of you that knew what to do while being guided by the fates.

You felt as he brushed against you, a soft sound escaped your lips, a mixture of pleasure and surprise. It had felt good. You glanced down. His arousal was quite big, it matched the rest of his beauty.

“Your body as responded to me. Just like the ground is thirsty for the water from the rains, your body is ready.”

“Yes. But am I not too small. I do not want to cause any displeasure in you.”

You were taken aback. You had not expected to be more ready then you were. Perhaps it was from his gentle words and touch. You tried to understand how you were feeling empty, feeling an unexplainable need for him. But you wanted this and would not stop him.

“A sword sheaths itself, that sheath must must be barely big enough to hold the sword it is safe. You are perfect, for me. Though, I should remind you there will be pain. It is the sacrifice that must be made. From this night forth, you will forever be mine along with your woman hood.”

You nodded. You felt there was no great sacrifice then to one’s emperor who had already been far kinder then you could have ever expected.

At first, there was quite a bit of pressure and it was not long before the slice of pain ripped through you. You gasped and called out, arching against him. You clawed at the soft fabrics under the two of you.

He still and waited till your body called and it did, but sweat broke out as if you were out in the sun. It must be from warmth that came from him. The pain soon ebbed.

“Shall I continue?” That was when you realized he had truly stilled but was still deep within you.

“Please.” Something you were unfamiliar began to build within you and you wanted more of it.

Soon, Geta easily began moving easily in and out of you. His breathing shortened and sounds, came from him you had never heard before.

There were sounds you had heard them in the neighboring sleeping quarters where you lived before he brought you to the domus.

Soon, his fingertips grazed between the two of you. A sharp pleasure ripped through you.

“Your bud is as delicate as the flowers you love.” His voice was raspy. You were lost in your sensation to barely realize what he said. All you knew was he spoke.

It cleared your thoughts all you could do was make your own incoherent sounds you grasped onto him. You felt like you could shatter yet you entire body tightened.

“Oh Geta.” You whimpered under him. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t, my blossom.” His voice was strained.

A moan was ripped from you as his fingers grazed once again between the two of you.

You bucked and felt as everything with your erupted, it felt absolutely amazing. Once you could see beyond the bursts of stars in your eyes you were melting under Geta.

He arched against you a final time and soon, uttered his own very deep moan. Be he came to rest his forehead against your shoulder. His breath was hot he panted before he moved and was laying on his back beside you.

You honestly do not know what came over you, perhaps it was the goddess Venus herself that truly liked the union of you and Geta. But in glow of the pleasure that had filled you; turning you looked at Geta.

His lashed laid softly on his cheeks as he breathing began to steady.

“Will be do this again?”

He smiled, though his eyes didn’t open. “Yes. Though that was enough for one night. Like wine, I do not want to grow terribly addicted to you. Not good for an emperor or you.”

“Oh.” His words fell over you like a shadow. You could tell how it made you feel but the glow began to shrink in its size.

His finally opened and he looked at you. “Also, so that words don’t fly faster then then already do at the senate or the forum, you must go back to your chambers but I will see you for our morning meal.”

“Yes.”

You knew enough to get up then and easily wrapped the elegant fabrics around you. He rolled away as you glanced over. It made a pang go through you.

*******

Once in your room, you paused after closing the door. You felt suddenly very hollow, as if his ownership finally was realized. You hugged yourself tightly.

After sometime, not knowing truly how long you stood and were going to prepare for sleep which is beckoning. When you realized, the golden clasp was not in your possession. His words echoed in your mind, they had given you a chill. Yet, you didn’t want yourself to be the cause of those loose words. So carefully you crept once more past his sleeping guards, something you would tell him about over perhaps some more full, very crisp and pleasant grapes.

You opened the heavy door and in the few candles that remained flickering in his chambers, you made your way to the alcove where his bed was.

A scream came from you that you had never known to be in your possession. It came from somewhere deep inside of you. There beside his bed was a man holding a very large dagger, he looked like he was prepared to strike.

Geta awoke, the man brought down the dagger. Moving just so it only managed to slice at his upper arm instead of his heart; where he had appeared to be aiming for. The sight of crimson was stark to the rest of the night. Everything became fuzzy, your knees began to buckle before all became black.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @screaming-blue-bagel @missonlypost @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @heartsforjosephquinn

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pseudoartistpostsstuff · 11 months ago

Note

Heyo! May I request platonic yandere chain with reader? But instead of isekai like normal the reader is actually a destructive spirit or deity that was reawakened by either Dark Link or Ganon? Anywhoooo I hope you’re having a great week- mine was filled with exams lmfaooooo

Thanks for requesting anon! I really hope you had good results from those exams!

Notes: My week was okay, thank you for asking!!

I really let out my imagination out on this one, hope you'll like it.

BTW, take this as a part on the back for getting through your week.

I feel like I made the yandereness on this one so light, I'm sorry

-> Reader can't bring themselves to remember anyone's names so just remembers their most striking characteristics in their opinion.

-> It's been a while since I've read the comic, so Time keeping FD's mask on his belt for safety measures (since it's the most dangerous one and he can't lose it) is merely a headcanon of mine.

-> Reader is a menace who has questionable intellect (AKA a chaotic, pyromaniac, destructive entity being forced to be nice to others by the good guys™).

-> I left the end ambiguous, so you guys can decide if reader was either truly tamed or is still a menace who Time has to keep on check so they won't be too cruel on their "pranks".

-> Reader also magically rearranged Time's ocarina so each hole would play different a different sound at some point, so he literally had to re-learn where each note was so that he could go back to playing his songs again.

-> Reader slept for more than Time and Wild both and doesn't know a thing about the Zelda lore other than the Golden goddesses.

TWs: Light platonic yanderism, mention of burns, mentions of fire and arson, mentions of loud noises, basically just reader being an absolute hazard to anyone and everyone.

Platonic yandere! Chain x Reader

Debt to pay.

People from your time used to say that one could sooner move a mountain from it's resting place rather than tame your natural ways.

You wouldn't say you were a deity, per say, you thrived on chaos and setbacks, a living annoyance to the poor living things that breathed the same air as you, and roamed the earth by the same time you did.

It was in your nature to be destructive, yes, but you never wanted destruction, at least not full extinction. The darkness and the light were both two sides of the same rupee, they were one just like the other, beings of both sides would react the exact identical way to having their butts lit on fire. So, of course, you weren't one to pick and choose who you'd go after each day.

Thing is, most people didn't understand that —if anyone at all— so everyone just assumed you were a being of pure darkness, even if you actually saw yourself as more of a dark gray entity from a moral chart perspective.

And that was how you got yourself “killed”, if that's even the right thing to call it.

Somehow, no one seemed to care much when you lit whole villages on fire and made all of the walls of full-on castles start dissing out pure electricity, but they almost dislocated their jaws the moment you decided to do a silly trick and turn all of their lovely goddesses statues upside down for a day.

As if those same goddesses hadn't just ignored all of their prayers in the last hundreds of years you spent freely making their lives miserable.

You were stored in a vase. Not even a cool cool one. A plain clay vase deep within a temple under the ground. If you could choose, you'd have preferred something more majestic and up to the level of your power, but then again, it wasn't like you were in place to say anything in your defense.

Sometimes you just wondered how your small group of worshipers were. They probably weren't the best people out there, if you could say so yourself, but you were still curious if they ended up having similar fates to yours.

A long, long time later, you were "revived", for the same reason you were "killed".

Not the best choice on the part of whoever went through the trouble of doing all that, but who were you to judge? Or even to complain?

From what you could get from the boring evil monologue the guy in front of you was giving after having just woken you up from the longest nap you've ever had —since you couldn't really die— the guy wanted you to aid him in his quest to kill some other guys and take over the world or some boring nefarious plan like that.

You couldn't recall any of the names he just said, though, so you could only guess that you had either slept for a pretty damn long time, or you were in an entirely different world on itself.

Before you could fully decide on one of the two possibilities, the red guy sent you to fight against that group of guys he was talking about, seven men with varying shades of blonde hair along with two guys who weren't blond at all.

Perhaps you could have admired the strength of the red guy's magic, to just bring you out of your sleep like that and already straight up teleport you.

Thing is, you didn't really care enough to do that, you just did whatever you wanted the moment you realized you were fully conscious and in a physical body once again.

Were you chaotic and very much possibly evil? Yes. Were you stupid, however? Kinda No.

So the moment the opportunity presented itself, you followed those guys around, gathering information. Taking notice also of that one shadow looking dude, who was following them around just like you, seemingly with the intention of making their lives hell.

Maybe he'd be an interesting being to interact with, if he wasn't as prickly as a damn cactus. You swore you couldn't even approach the guy without him reacting like a startled cat, pointing his flimsy sword straight to your face. You swore to yourself you'd break that thing in half one of these days.

And so you set your sights fully on the blond —and the not so blond— guys, taking your time to also play around with the villages they went to and toy with the monster camps they passed by.

Of course, you couldn't just ignore the massively ominous aura drifting from the masks that one of the taller blondies carried around. Your hands itched to get a grasp on those things, whatever was sealed inside it was magical and possibly powerful, and the possibilities sent your mind on quite a dangerous frenzy.

The thing that made you a bit disappointed, however, was how long it took for them to notice your presence.

At some point you decided to start giving them some more obvious hints that what was following them wasn't friendly.

They seemed to really like bomb bags, which wasn't exactly safe for them when you could randomly activate those at will.

Also, you couldn't control the rain or storms, of course, but you definitely could attract lightning, especially since they all seemed to enjoy carrying around those identical metal swords.

Sometimes you just liked to pull on their hair and make knots on them, given that some had really long hair.

The wolf guy had a horse, one you could just startle really easily. Although you didn't have the result you wanted, since the wolf guy wasn't sent flying the moment his horse went crazy.

You caught him later, though. Making loud, high pitched noises to absolutely blow away his senses the moment he turned into a wolf to try and chase you down.

The fire that the short guy was using to mend a weapon randomly became overly strong, enough to have burned his whole arm, if he hadn't pulled away quick enough.

The scarf of the other one just one day became a bit too hard around his neck. It's a good thing for him that he was quick enough to pull it off his neck before he suffocated.

You watched as the one with pink hair almost had a breakdown, as all his colorful, shiny little trinkets and accessories having become dulled, turning completely pitch black, no traces of their original colors or magic left.

The kid tried to control the wind, only to have it blown straight back to his face, bringing leaves and sand with it.

You made sure their cook accidentally poured a bit too much pepper in their food, or salt, even sugar, if you felt like it.

The brown haired one suddenly lost control of his magic, what was supposed to heal their wounds ended up dyeing their hair blue for days on end.

That other guy who always overslept felt his pillow being pulled from under his head at random times through his nights.

And the tall guy's masks have all suddenly decided to disappear.

“Okay. Something is going on here. And it's not something natural.” Time sighed, looking around the camp, tired and worried, concerned.

Wild’s hair was an absolute mess and seemed to have caught on fire at some point, Warriors was glaring at his scarf, keeping it as far from his —almost purple— neck as possible. Wind had his hair almost as messy as Wild's, full of leaves and dirt, he was pretty sure there were also some bugs around it, his cheek had a thin cut from a sharp little rock.

Twilight was occupied comforting Epona, although the both of them seemed quite shaken up by something.

Four had some burns around the tips of his fingers, his hair usual blond hair now stained with blue, Hyrule sitting beside him with a frown, bandaging his hands rather than using his healing magic like he normally would.

Sky wasn't far from the two, almost dozing off despite the migraine that had settled behinds his eyes, which were now dotted with heavy bags from sleepless nights. Legend's terrible mood did not seem to disturb his need for a nap.

“Oh, really?” Legend almost growled back, positively fuming with barely contained rage gleaming in his eyes.

“Vet, I am not your enemy here, but once we find out who is doing this, you can direct your anger towards whoever they are.” Time shot a look to the other.

“That is, if it's even a person doing this. It might be some kind of monster.” Warriors commented.

“One thing we're sure of is that there's magic involved in this.” Hyrule spoke up, finished with the bandaging.

“I don't even know why you're so mad, Leg, you were possibly the least affected by this.” Four complained, eyebrows furrowed with stress. Even as a blacksmith, he was never a fan of getting burned, especially not being caught off guard like that!

“Agreed.” Wild was the next to speak, not bothering to brush the soot out of his hair. It wasn't quite the first time he almost been exploded, after all, even though the experience didn't get any better no matter how many times he went through it.

“You're really saying that, even though the kid only got a burst of wind to the face.”

“Ay! Mind your own business, Legend!” Wind sprung up in defense of himself, already looking to be tense prior to the attack, as the two began arguing.

While the group was in quite the mess, you took your chances to go ahead and approach stealthily to attempt to take the mask you were so curious about. Said mask being the last one you hadn't stolen borrowed yet, since the tall guy seemed to have noticed his other masks disappearances and decided to take extra means of protection towards that one.

In your opinion, your risks were all carefully thought out and calculated, however, you seemed to have completely forgotten about a certain wolf guy at the edge of the camp, standing beside his horse and looking straight at you.

You managed to grab the mask from the taller guy's belt! But at what price..?

Before you could even manage to turn around and run away with it, a hand shot out, hooking on the back of the collar of your shirt, pushing you to the ground in a second. And in another second, there was a blade shoved right in front of your face.

Goddammit.

You barely paid any attention to all the yelling, too occupied hugging your newly acquired possession tightly to your chest.

“Hand me that mask. Now.” A voice right behind you demanded, yet you still didn't move.

“No.”

The sword in front of you seemed to inch just slightly closer to your neck.

“At least tell me what it is, first!” You asked, a bit more squirmy, not at all comfortable with the vulnerability you had right now, since it seemed like that long sleep left you with a bit less power than you used to have, clearly a precaution, should you ever gain you body back. It was smart from your captors, but very much annoying for you.

“None of your business, now give me back my mask!” The tall guy —now in front of you— stressed. You could tell that his restlessness was hinting towards just how near he was to the end of his wits.

“If this piece of porcelain is as powerful as it seems, then yes, yes it is my business!”

It wasn't, not really, but you were too curious to just give up on information just like that.

The tall guy went quiet for a second before he finally replied, going with a question instead of actually giving you an answer like you were expecting from him.

“How do you know how powerful it is?”

“None of your business.” You threw his own words back at him and now the dull side of the sword was suddenly pressing up pretty uncomfortably against your skin, burning you. “Okay, fine, I'll tell you.”

And that was how you met the Links, and also how you became chained to them, unable to leave. After all, you did have to pay them back for all that you did to every single one of them.

But, for some reason, that simple dept seemed to only to get bigger the longer you spent time with them, despite the fact you weren't doing anything entirely wrong…

At least, that was the excuse they gave to you, yet something in you made you feel like that wasn't the full truth.

Extra (This happened)

Time: give me back my shit

Reader: nuh-uh

Time: fym nuh-uh

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daydreamtofiction · 4 months ago

Text

Thou Shalt Not Covet // 16: Sanctuary

Contents | Part 15 | First Person Version [AO3]

Summary: (Priest!Benedict x Female Reader) Ellis gets the keys to her new flat.

Word Count: 7.9K (Grab a snack my dudes, it's a long one.)

Warnings: Strong language, irreverence, dark humour, adult and sexual themes, alcohol consumption, body insecurity. Smut: penetrative sex, oral sex (receiving), lurrv making, praise, worship, aftercare, feels. Readers must be 18+

A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter I would so, so, so appreciate it if you left a comment. It helps a lot and means more than you’ll ever know to hear what you all think. Thank you so much, hope you enjoy this one as much I do 🤍

"Jesus Christ."

You considered it a talent; how easily you could compel a priest to take the Lord's name in vain.

Father Benedict's knuckles were blanched, bone white as he clung to the handle above the passenger door of his car. You could have sworn you saw him make the sign of the cross from the corner of your eye, mumbling a prayer under his breath.

"At least there's nothing here for me to crash into," you said, taking a hand off the steering wheel to gesture to the empty supermarket carpark around you.

"Both hands on the wheel," he said.

"Sorry."

"It's alright, you're doing fine, just... Remember you need to slow down as we approach this turn."

"Okay." You looked down at your foot as you took it off the accelerator, swapping it to the brake.

"Eyes up, Ellis. You have to do it without looking."

"Oh, yeah, sorry."

"Now, get ready to press the clutch down."

"Why do I need to press the clutch?"

He rubbed his eyes, trying to disguise his growing frustration. "To move into first gear."

"Oh." You looked down at your feet again.

"Ellis... Ellis!"

You looked up, slamming your foot on the brake and bringing the car to a sudden, hard stop just inches from a row of bollards. The car shuddered and the engine cut out, you turned to look at Father Benedict, his hand still gripping the handle above his head.

He closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself with a deep breath before glancing over at you. "It's fine," he said calmly. "Just restart the car and let's keep going."

You fiddled with the keys until the engine roared back to life, the car jerking forward suddenly before cutting out again.

"Clutch," he said quietly.

"Right, yes. Clutch. I just- Y'know it's really hard having to do foot things, hand things and eye things all at once."

"Eye things... You mean seeing...?"

"Yes," you said, starting the car again and moving the gearstick into first. You pulled off slowly, turning the corner that led you back into the empty carpark. "I have to look in front of me, behind me and either side, somehow all at once, while simultaneously using two feet to operate three pedals, and two hands to steer a wheel, indicate and change gear every other fucking second."

"Change gear."

"Hm?"

"You need to change gear. Can you not hear the engine? It sounds like it's going to explode."

"Oh." You looked down at your feet as you pressed the clutch, then down at your hand as you fiddled with the gearstick.

He leaned over quickly, gripping the steering wheel with one hand to stop the car veering through the empty bays.

"Shit, sorry," you muttered, taking over again. "I'm pissing you off, aren't I."

"No! No of course not. I just can't believe you've managed to go your whole life without ever driving a car."

"Oh, well funny story actually," you began sarcastically. "See, I was in this really serious car crash when I was thirteen and had to be cut out of the wreck with heavy machinery. Oh, and my brother died in the driver's seat right next to me while we waited for emergency services. It was quite traumatising, believe it or not, so when I finally got old enough to take driving lessons I'd have panic attacks at the wheel. Which meant I never actually got to learn. Did I not tell you about that? I'm sure I told you about that."

"Okay, alright, fair point. I apologise." He held his hands up in surrender. "Why don't we have a go at parking instead?"

He directed you to a space near the back, trying his best to sound encouraging as he talked you through it.

"Here," he said. "So you're going to slow down and start turning the wheel just before this line, okay?"

You did as he instructed, driving towards the space and beginning to slow down.

"Slower," he said. "Even slower. Now start turning- Nope, not that much- You're still going too fast-"

You somehow managed to park diagonally across three spaces, stalling once again in the process.

"You know what, it's fine," you said with a shrug. "I just... It's time we all accept that I wasn't made to drive, I was made to be driven."

"No, come on, you can do this," he laughed. "Turn the car back on."

You huffed and did as you were told, like a sulking child. He leaned over and grabbed the wheel, glancing in the rearview mirror before looking at you.

"Right, clutch down and put it in reverse... Reverse... The one with the R on it, Ellis... Okay, that's it. Now gently on the accelerator."

The car slowly began to roll backwards. He took your hands and put them on the wheel.

"Now brake. Okay." He let go and sat back in the passenger seat. "Clutch, first gear, and we'll drive down there."

"You make this look so easy when you do it," you said as you fiddled with the gearstick.

"It is easy once you get used to it. Becomes like second nature."

"Mm. Or maybe you're just good at everything."

"I'm not good at everything," he laughed.

"Okay, name something you're bad at."

He paused in thought. "My handwriting's awful."

You laughed softly, bringing the car to a gentle stop. "Oh my god, I didn't stall."

"See, I told you," he replied with a smile. "Now get out of my car."

You climbed out and made your way to the passenger side, waiting as he battled to force open the stiff door. You grabbed the handle and pulled as he pushed, eventually managing to pry it open. He got out, blowing a stray curl out of his eyes and looking down at his watch.

"Come on, we better get back."

He placed a hand on the top of your head, scrunching his fingers gently in your hair before making his way around to the driver's side of the car.

You loved when he touched you like that. The simple, chaste gestures that served no purpose beyond showing his affection for you; the comforting hand on the back of your neck or the light squeeze of your thigh, the head scratches and sweep of his thumb across your cheek. There was something so intimate about being touched so purely, how naturally he had inhabited your personal space, and how easily you'd welcomed him in.

You arrived back at the rectory soon after, Father Benedict's car shuddering as it rolled along the gravel driveway.

"Have I fucked up your car?" you asked.

"Nah." He shook his head. "It's on its last legs anyway."

He got out and lifted two large packs of bottled water from the boot. You tried to take one from him but he refused, insisting on carrying them both. It was late August, the air void of any breeze, thick and muggy despite the cloudy sky. You walked with him down the winding path that led to the pub, beads of sweat peppering your face by the time you got inside. You followed him into the back room, another sign added to the door which read:'St Augustine's Church Book Club - Wednesdays 11am'. And for a moment you questioned why the hell you'd chosen to spend your day off doing this. Why anyone would do this at all.

You quickly blotted your face with the bottom of your t-shirt, immediately walking over to the windows and pushing them open one by one. It made no difference; there was no air, the outside just as warm and still as it was inside. You rolled your eyes and wandered to the pile of metal chairs, taking them out and unfolding them one by one.

Father Benedict was humming to himself, his back to you as he set the bottles down on the floor and tore through the packaging. "Ellis, would you mind getting started on the ch-" he turned around to find you already setting them up in a circle.

"I'm a pro now, Father," you joked.

"That you are," he laughed, turning his back to you again as he unpacked the bottles and set them on the table. "Thank you for helping me with this, I know it's a pain in the arse."

"I don't mind. After that driving lesson this morning I think I owe you."

He chuckled. "Hopefully when Edith gets out of hospital she'll feel well enough to take over again. But until then," he turned around and placed his hands on his hips with a sigh. "Looks like I run a book club."

You laughed softly. "You're a good soul."

"I do try."

There was a moment of quiet, your eyes fixed on each other from across the room, subtle smiles and unspoken desire. He broke first, clearing his throat and looking down at his watch.

"Right, people should be arriving soon," he said. "Do you want to stick around for the meeting and I'll drive you home afterwards?"

"I would but I have some last minute flat stuff to sort out before I move in next week." You placed the last chair down to complete the circle. "I can't believe how fucking expensive some things are. Dining tables, hundreds and hundreds of pounds. Why?"

He bowed his head and laughed. "I'll see you soon."

"Bye," you said with a smile, certain you could feel him watching you as you walked away.

You held the keys in the palm of your hand, staring down at them like you couldn't believe it was real. You hadn't even realised you'd arrived until your father nudged you, jokingly singing She's Leaving Home by The Beatles.

You rolled your eyes and breathed out a laugh, opening the door and jumping out of the van. You walked up to the front gate, staring up at the building, wondering why you suddenly felt scared.

"Are you going in or what?" your father called out as he slid open the large side door of his van.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, then back to the building, taking a deep breath and pushing through the gate. You unlocked the front door and walked inside, the cute frog doormat still sitting outside your neighbour's door.

Neighbour. You had neighbours now.

You made your way up the first flight of stairs, turning to head up the second when the door of 336B opened and a man stepped out onto the landing with a large bin bag in his hand. You almost walked right into him, stumbling backwards slightly.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry," he said.

"It's okay," you replied with a polite laugh.

He stepped aside for you to walk past. "Narrow landings," he said.

"Yeah."

You had just reached the first step when he turned and called out to you. "Are you the new neighbour?"

You nodded.

"Oh, cool, nice to meet you. I'm Rav."

"Ellis. Nice to meet you too."

"Have you met the downstairs neighbours yet?"

"No, but I like their doormat."

He smiled. "Well her name's Lorna, I'm sure she'll come and introduce herself at some point. It's just her and her daughter Blossom."

"Blossom...?"

"Yeah." He laughed. "The name'll make sense when you meet them. Anyway, welcome to the building, I better go and get rid of this bag that is definitely not full of pizza boxes."

You breathed out a laugh, giving a slight wave as he disappeared down the stairs. He'd left his door ajar, and it made you feel safe, somehow. Like your building was the kind of place where people could leave their front doors open without worrying, have friendly chats on the landing as they passed each other.

You continued up the stairs, fiddling with the keys in your hand as you approached your new front door. Maybe you'd paint it a fun colour, get yourself a cute doormat too. You unlocked it and stepped inside, swallowing past a lump in your throat as you walked into the middle of the stark, empty living area, the wooden floor glittering with shafts of multicoloured light from the stained glass window.

You sat on the floor and lay down, arms and legs outstretched like a star, basking in the silence, the empty space that was yours to fill. It smelled like fresh paint, a piece of masking tape still stuck to the coving in the corner. You wondered how hard it would be to decorate the ceiling; cover it in stars or patterned wallpaper, paint it like a cloudy sky. You had all the time in the world to decide, the thought making you smile.

"The fuck are you doing?"

You sat up to see Mara stepping into the flat, Soleil perched contently on her hip. You clambered to your feet, staring at her as she stood with a raised eyebrow, still so pretty despite the confused scowl on her face. Her eyes darted around the room then back to you, waiting for you to say something.

You weren't a hugger. Neither was she. But still, you found yourself hurrying across the room towards her, wrapping your arms around her and holding her tight.

"Thank you," you said.

She stilled for a moment before gently rubbing your back. "You're welcome. Just don't get the place repossessed."

You laughed and pulled away.

"Nathan's downstairs helping dad up with all your stuff," she said. "I just thought I'd come up and see the place before you fill it with shit."

"It's nice, isn't it."

"It's beautiful. I love this." She pointed to the window. "Anyway, I can't stay. I'm taking this little one to a mother and baby class. Shoot me. But I'll pop round once you're settled. We can kill each other putting together some flatpack furniture."

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.

"I'll see you soon. Happy moving day."

"Enjoy your class."

She brought two fingers to the side of her head, miming a gunshot.

You watched as she walked out, her voice suddenly becoming high-pitched and animated as she talked to Soleil. When you could no longer hear her, you sat back down on the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as you waited for Nathan and your father.

For months, your life had sat inside a cluttered garage, waiting, waning, much like you. Now all of a sudden there was light.

You hadn't gotten used to the intercom yet; the loud buzz still making you jump whenever it rang through the flat. You rushed to the door, practically hurdling over boxes to get there, and pressed the button on the wall.

"Hello?"

"It's me."

You inhaled sharply through your nose, trying to hold in the smile threatening to spread across your face. "I'll be down in a second."

You ran downstairs, not bothering to change out of your t-shirt and pyjama shorts, and opened the front door, the smile finally breaking through when you saw Father Benedict on the other side. He was in his own clothes; a grey t-shirt, dark jeans and trainers. You still found it strange seeing him so casual, so normal. But even in the most ordinary of clothing, there was still something ethereal about him.

"Hi," you said.

"Hi." He gave a charming smile.

"Do you want to come in?"

"Yes, I would much prefer that to standing on the doorstep."

You laughed sarcastically, allowing him to step in and closing the door behind him.

He followed you upstairs, the closer you got, the tighter your stomach became. You were excited; excited to see him in your space, to blur the lines between your two worlds.

"So obviously I've only been here for two days," you said as you walked into the flat. "So it's still mostly unfurnished. And there's boxes everywhere. And I haven't-"

"Wow," he whispered as he stepped inside.

"What do you think?"

"It's nice. Really nice. And this..." He wandered over to the window. "It's beautiful."

"I know." You felt a slight sense of pride wash over you, his approval mattering more than you thought it would. "Do you want a tour?"

"Sure."

"Okay, well obviously this is the living room," you gestured to the space around you.

There was a small second-hand couch, an old coffee table from your mother's house and a TV balanced atop a cardboard box. Your green chair sat in the window, the place you'd spent the majority of the last two days.

He followed you through to the alcove where you opened each door. "Bathroom. Spare room or office, haven't decided yet. And my bedroom..."

He peered inside the empty room, furrowing his brow at the double mattress on the floor, your duvet and pillows strewn messily on top.

"My bed won't be delivered for another three weeks," you said.

"Ah."

"I actually don't mind this though. It's quite comfy."

He smiled at you, following you back towards the kitchen.

"And this is my kitchen, complete with empty cupboards and a microwave I have no idea how to use."

"Love it."

You laughed.

He cocked his head slightly, eyeing you for a moment.

"What?" you asked.

He shrugged. "I just like seeing you like this. You're happy."

You paused for a moment. "I really am."

There was a lull as he gazed down at you, eyes creasing with joy from seeing you so content. But after a moment he snapped out of it.

"Oh, I brought you a little gift," he said, reaching to pull something from his back pocket. "Now, I know you're not religious, but in the catholic faith this is supposed to bring protection to your home, so I wanted you to have one..."

He handed you a small glass picture frame, the edges decorated with intricate gold filigree. Inside was a depiction of Christ, a vibrant red heart on his chest.

"It's the sacred heart," he said, an uncertainty in his tone. "You can tell me to go fuck myself if you don't want to-"

"No. No, this is... It's really thoughtful. Thank you." You pressed it to your chest, smiling at him appreciatively, before walking past him into the living area.

He followed, watching from the kitchen doorway as you placed the dainty frame in the middle of the coffee table. You turned to see him smiling, creating the deep lines in his cheeks that you loved so much.

You looked around for a moment before clearing your throat. "Do you have to be anywhere?"

"Nope, I am completely free for once."

"Really? Well, would you maybe want to stay for a while? I was just going to order food and maybe watch some films or..."

"What films?"

"Oh, let me think, erm... Passion of the Christ... Stigmata... The Exorcist... The God Father."

He gave a sarcastic laugh. "Hilarious."

You smirked, far too proud of your own joke.

"Yes. I'd love to stay," he said sincerely.

"Great."

There was another moment of quiet between you as you stood across the room from each other. He was leaning against the kitchen doorframe with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, while you hovered near the coffee table, nervously twiddling your fingers. Since you met him, you had always been the guest. Now suddenly you were the host, and you weren't sure what you were supposed to do.

"What's that going to be?" he asked, nodding towards a pile of wood, screws and nails on the floor.

"A bookcase. I got annoyed and gave up."

He chuckled and walked over to it, crouching down to read the instructions before picking up a heavy, black Dr Marten boot. "Please don't tell me this is what you're using for a hammer."

"What else would you suggest I use?"

"An actual hammer...?" He picked up a bread knife, holding it up at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Screwdriver," you said.

He dropped his head and laughed. "Okay. Okay, I can work with it."

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"I want to," he said, grabbing a large plank of wood and leaning it against the wall. "Doesn't look too complicated."

You'd never found traditional masculinity particularly attractive before; never desired a man who could build or fix or lift. But for two hours, you watched Father Benedict put together your bookcase. You watched him heave heavy slabs of wood with ease, hold nails between his lips as he eyeballed measurements and use his t-shirt to mop the sweat from his brow.

When he was done, he took a step back, hands on hips as he admired his work. He knocked his fist against the side of it, showing you just how sturdy it was, and moved the entire thing across the room and back twice when you changed your mind about where it should go.

You were sitting together now, cross-legged on the floor in front of it as you sorted through a box of books. You had a specific system, a particular way you liked to order your shelves. You knew it was annoying, remembering how Alfie would huff whenever he put a book on your shelf only to have you move it back to its original place soon after. But Father Benedict didn't huff, didn't get irritated or tell you it was stupid. Instead he was patient; asking you questions and trying to learn the system so he could follow it without having to ask where things should go.

He reached into the box and pulled out the bible he'd given you, sticky notes still poking out from between the pages. It felt like a lifetime ago now, a relic of an era you didn't even recognise anymore. He held it up and you smiled.

"You can have it back if you want," you said.

"No, you keep it," he said, sliding it onto the shelf in the exact place you would have put it.

You sifted through a handful of books, finding a small, leather-bound binder amongst them.

"Is that a photo album?" he asked.

"No," you lied, throwing it back in the box.

He pulled it back out immediately, opening it and flicking through the plastic wallet pages with a grin. He turned it around to show you a picture; your scrawny, eight-year-old self scowling at the camera as she sat on a sun lounger beside a hotel pool.

"I was annoyed because my mum was forcing me to wear a t-shirt in the water," you said.

He gave a deep chuckle in his throat, turning the album back to him and fanning his thumb across the photos.

"Is this your brother?" he asked, showing you another picture.

You tilted your head to one side, looking down at the image you vividly remembered being taken. You were twelve, wearing a blue floral shirt beneath a brown pinafore dress, a large rubber mallet in your hand. Cain was standing beside you in a white vest, ugly Hawaiian shirt and bright red trousers, his hair styled in a ridiculous quiff.

"Yeah," you said. "We were at my aunt and uncle's costume party."

He looked at the picture for a moment. "He went as Ace Ventura?"

"Mhm."

"Nice." He smiled, before narrowing his eyes. "Who the fuck were you supposed to be?"

"I was Kathy Bates in Misery," you said bluntly, as if it were obvious.

He burst into laughter. "What kid chooses that as a costume?"

You shrugged. "What would you have preferred I go as? A Spice Girl?"

He continued to giggle, shaking it away as he analysed the photo closer. "You have his smile."

"You think so?"

"Mhm."

You took the album from him gently, closing it and putting it back in the box. "Evidently I have his driving ability too."

His mouth opened slightly, eyes widening as he breathed out a laugh. "That was dark."

"I was a kid who loved Stephen King films, what do you expect?"

His mouth curled into a half smile.

You struggled to your feet, your legs tingly and numb from sitting cross-legged for so long. You hobbled to the couch and picked up your phone, turning back to look at him.

"Shall we order food?"

The sun was slowly fading, a promise that summer was finally coming to an end. The dim light melted through the window, making the flat feel smaller, cozy and serene. You convinced him to watch trashy reality TV while you ate dinner on the couch, laughing as he grew invested in the drama, shouting at the screen with a mouthful of food.

You couldn't remember ever feeling this comfortable with another human being. It was effortless, harmonious; two voices blending together to create something new and beautiful. You had been drawn to his exterior, attracted to the parts you could see on the surface. But the deeper you delved, you only seemed to discover more to adore.

The coffee table was strewn with empty takeaway boxes and trays. Obnoxiously loud music played as the end credits of the show began to roll. You forced yourself to get off the couch, making your way towards the kitchen.

"Do you need another drink?" you asked.

"Please," he replied, stuck to the couch and nursing his full stomach.

You pushed through the door and opened the fridge, pulling out the bottle of champagne your mother had given you as a housewarming gift.

He looked up at you as you returned, his eyes creasing with amusement at the bottle and two mismatched mugs in your hands.

"I'm not the champagne-flute-owning kind of person," you said.

"No way," he teased.

You rolled your eyes and sat beside him, popping the cork and pouring some into each mug.

He waited for you to bring the mug to your lips before taking a sip himself, the pair of you sharing a glance as the sharp, bubbling liquid slid down your throat.

You grimaced. "I forgot I don't like champagne."

He laughed, taking it and placing it on the table for you. You thanked him and relaxed back into the couch, tucking your feet beneath you as you flicked through movies on the TV.

It grew dark outside as the movie played, the TV illuminating the room with a blueish hue. You kept asking questions, another habit Alfie would groan at until you stopped watching movies together at all. But Father Benedict simply answered them, even laughing at how thoroughly you'd misunderstood the plot.

You sat forward and grabbed your mug of champagne, wincing as you took another sip. "So now who's that?" you asked, pointing at the TV.

"That's the big boss," he said.

"But I thought the other guy was the big boss?"

"He is. Of the rival group."

"Oh. But then why did those men go and talk to him before?"

"Well because it's obviously being hinted at that they're moles of some kind."

"Ah." You put your mug back on the table.

He looked at you, his mouth curling with a smile. "You're still not following, are you."

"Nope."

He gave a deep, throaty laugh. "We can watch something else if you'd prefer?"

You shook your head and leaned back against him, absentmindedly taking his arm and draping it around your shoulders. "I'm enjoying it."

"You keep saying you don't have a clue what's going on..."

"Yeah but you do. So we're watching it."

He paused for a moment, exhaling a quick, soft breath through his nose. You felt his body relax, his arm wrapping around you more securely. He placed his other hand in his lap, palm up, silently asking you to hold it. You linked your fingers through his and he squeezed your hand gently.

When the movie ended, you didn't move, too comfortable and content in his embrace. You watched the credits roll to the very end, the remote control just out of reach. Father Benedict moved his arm, scratching your head with the tips of his fingers. You turned your head to look up at him.

"I thought you'd fallen asleep," he said.

You laughed softly and forced yourself to sit upright. "Of course not, I was just very invested in the film."

He smirked. "Of course, silly me."

You looked at him, admiring the structure of his face beneath the glow of the TV; the soft shadows and sharp angles, smile lines and pale, captivating eyes.

"Thank you for spending your one, very rare night off with me," you said. "I know there's probably a million things you'd rather be doing than building bookcases and explaining movie plots to me."

He shook his head. "There is nothing else I'd rather be doing."

His own words seemed to give him pause. You cocked your head, watching as his eyes rounded, turning soft and glassy, his jaw relaxing, lips parting ever so slightly.

"What's up?" you asked.

"Nothing," he said quietly, blinking a few times and swallowing hard.

You thought about pressing him for a moment, but you didn't. Instead you got up and gathered the mess from the table.

"Do you want something different to drink?" you asked. "I can't stomach that champagne anymore."

He shook his head distractedly, staring blankly at the TV.

You shrugged and carried the rubbish into the kitchen, stuffing it in the bin and forcing it down until the lid finally closed. Then you moved to the sink to wash your hands, peering out at the tall, thick tree that stretched across the window. In the mornings, you could hear birds singing inside it, and at night you would watch the leaves sway gently in the breeze.

You were drying your hands when the door opened behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to see Father Benedict stepping into the kitchen.

"Hey," you said. "Changed your mind about the drink?"

He didn't say anything as he walked up behind you, turning you around to look at him and taking your face in his hands.

You stayed quiet as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, inhaling deeply as he kissed you softly, slowly, earnestly. You placed a hand on his cheek, returning the kiss, following his lead. His breath quivered as he broke away - just for a moment - to tilt his head the other way and bring his lips back to yours. He moved a hand to the back of your head, clutching your hair in his fist, the other slipping around your waist to pull you closer to him. You curved your hands around the back of his neck, rising onto your toes to kiss him with more ease.

Usually when you kissed, there was an urgency behind it, a hunger, a primal, impatient need for one another that made you move with haste and vigour. But this was different, somehow. It was longing, desperate, intense. You could feel anguish in his hold of you, reverence in the way he moved his lips, so slowly and deliberately.

He broke away again, breathing heavily as he rested his forehead against yours. You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his chest, resting them there as you caught his gaze with your own, searching his eyes for a clue, a reason for his sudden sincerity. But all you saw was adoration, a shimmer in his waterline.

You led him to your bedroom, his hold on you never wavering as you moved together through the flat, as though he couldn't bring himself to let go of you, even for a second. You opened the door and pulled him gently into the room, kissing him with the same care and patience he'd shown you.

The room was dark and cool, the curtain-less window letting in a dim glow from the streetlights outside. You wished you'd taken the time to make the bed this morning; your rumpled duvet and mismatched pillows strewn across the sad mattress in the middle of the floor. You opened your mouth to apologise for it, but he caught the words in another kiss before they could surface.

He broke away to take off his t-shirt, throwing it aside and immediately returning his lips to yours, as though any second he was deprived of you was a second too long. You let your fingers dance over the ridges of his torso; the firm muscle of his chest and soft flesh of his belly, the trail of hair beneath his navel and smooth skin slowly puckering with goosebumps. You could no longer imagine a world where this body didn't belong to you.

You moved your hands to the waistline of his jeans but he stopped you, gently pulling his hips back and reaching for the hem of your t-shirt instead. You raised your arms above your head as he peeled it from you, still fighting the urge to hide yourself from him as he laid eyes on your body, even after all this time. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing you deeply as he unclasped your bra. You slid the straps down your arms and let it fall to the ground, melting as the warmth of his chest pressed against yours.

He lowered you both to the mattress, laying you gently on your back as he began showering your body in kisses. Your core fluttered with every warm press of his lips to your skin, your nipples growing tight and hard, making you shiver as his tongue grazed over them. He moved lower, kissing your ribs, hips and stomach, letting his hands roam in tandem with his mouth, taking in as much of you as he could at once.

You tensed your abs beneath his lips, arching your back, making your body appear firmer, ridding yourself of any curves, any softness you didn't want him to see. He responded by kissing the parts you couldn't hide; the dip at your waist and the rounds of your breasts, the soft spot over your womb and the imprint your pyjama shorts had left on your hips. He was admiring the things you thought of as flaws, worshipping them like virtues.

He slid the shorts further down your thighs. You lifted your backside off the mattress, allowing him to drag them down along with your underwear. He tossed them aside and continued to cover you in kisses; the heat of his breath making your body tingle, the anticipation of feeling him in the place that craved him most sending shivers through your core. His lips grazed over the crease where hip met thigh, slowly travelling inwards but never touching your centre.

You sighed in desperation, reaching down to stroke his hair. He glanced up at you, like your touch had snapped him out of a trance, and crawled back up to kiss your lips. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close to you, the solid bulge in his jeans pressing against your stomach.

"Are you teasing me?" you whispered, playfully thrusting your hips against his erection.

He breathed out a soft laugh before falling serious again. "I'm indulging in you." He kissed your neck. "You, Ellis, are the most... divine woman I have ever met."

Divine - Of a God, or God-like.

Was that really how he saw you? Heavenly? Seraphic? Something worthy of worship? In the beginning, you'd been a temptation, a test, a weakness. But now, you were divine.

He trailed his kisses back down your body, parting your legs and pressing his lips to your inner thighs. You lay back and closed your eyes, fists clenching the duvet beneath you as his tongue finally made contact with your clit, so lightly it was almost torturous.

You'd gotten so used to the severity of your interactions; the pent up frustration or deep, aggressive need that made sex hard, rough and intense. It's what you wanted, what you enjoyed. You'd almost forgotten it could be like this; tender, forbearing, every breath hanging like a pause in the air between you.

He licked along the seam of your pussy, lapping and sucking as he hummed in pleasure, like he could happily spend the entire night with his face buried between your legs.

"Ben," you whispered.

Your back arched as he flicked his tongue, focusing the pressure on your clit, hands wrapping around your thighs to hold you in place. You whimpered, filling the quiet room with the sound of your shallow breaths as your fingers dug into the sheets. You never understood why it took so long to give yourself an orgasm, yet every time, without fail, he had you on the brink in minutes. It was like your body had an express setting, and he was the only person who knew how to activate it.

He didn't speed up, didn't change pressure or adjust your positions. Yet still, the slow, gentle sweeps of his tongue drew the climax from you in a deep, shuddering rush. Your legs shook, toes curling as an electric current whirred through your core. You moaned softly, reaching down to grab whatever part of him you could as you rode out your orgasm against his mouth.

You hadn't even realised he'd moved until you felt him kiss your jaw, the weight of his body on your chest. If you were divine, then you were convinced he must be God himself. You turned your head, catching his lips with your own and cupping his face in your hands. He reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, his hard cock springing out against your stomach as he shimmied them off.

You spread your legs further, rocking your hips wantonly. He sighed into your mouth, breaking away and resting his forehead against yours, looking down into your eyes as he shifted to position himself at your entrance.

He groaned as he entered you, slipping effortlessly through the slick and filling you with a familiar, breathtaking pressure. He drew back and pushed inside again, slowly, making you feel every ridge and vein, every inch and pulsation against your inner walls. A quiet moan escaped you, a tight coiling deep in your belly making you squeeze around him.

He kept eye contact as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, as though nothing else in the world existed besides the place your bodies became one. He slid his fingers between yours, pushing your hands above your head and holding them there, kissing you, moaning with you, connecting with you in a way you weren't sure you'd ever connected with anyone before.

Your breath was trembling; the friction of his cock, his groin rubbing against your clit, the weight of him on top of you, all sending you into a heady daze. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning against your skin. You let go of his hands and wrapped them around his back, holding him close to you, fingernails pressing into the flesh of his shoulder blades.

You weren't sure how long it had been, but your thighs were starting to ache, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with every steady slide of his cock. You dug your nails deeper into his back, eliciting a growl deep in his throat. He lifted his head, brushing away the hair that had stuck to your face with sweat, and kissed you lovingly.

The next orgasm was different than the first; it was heavier, more guttural, coming from a place deeper inside you. The first was electric and airy, spiritual and sublime. But this one was earthly, carnal, thundering through your body like an earthquake. It was so visceral that he felt it too, almost losing his composure as you came around him.

He kept kissing you, moving with long, slow strokes until your limbs softened, head falling back against the mattress in bliss. Your eyelids were heavy as you gazed up at him, a part of you certain that you could have drifted off to sleep, sated and satisfied. But the other part never wanted him to stop.

He rested on his elbows, propping them either side of your head. "You know," he whispered. "You're the only woman I've ever came inside."

You let out a breathy gasp, his confession sending a shiver through your entire body.

"And it is..." he continued. "The most incredible feeling."

You whimpered, clutching the back of his neck with both hands and bringing his forehead back to yours. He almost lost it again, his rhythm faltering for a moment. He planted his palms on the mattress either side of your head, looking down at you with intense, stormy blue eyes.

He knew you liked his voice, liked it when he said dirty things, talked to you as he buried his cock inside you. But that wasn't for you. He wanted you to know that, to understand you were separate from whoever he'd been with before.

"Come inside me," you whispered against his lips. "Ben..."

He exhaled a heavy breath, thrusting deep and slow before finally letting go. He growled into your mouth as he sank as far as he could, cock pulsing as he released every last drop of pleasure.

You wrapped your arms around him as he collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving, damp curls tickling your face. You smoothed them down, closing your eyes and relaxing beneath the shelter of his large frame. You could hear again; the whoosh of distant traffic outside, the annoying buzz of the lampposts, the sound of Father Benedict's heavy breaths. It was serene, a contentment you never knew you were capable of.

After a while, he shifted slightly, laying kisses across your chest. You smiled, exhaling a soft laugh as his lips tickled your skin. He'd softened inside you, sliding out as he moved, continuing his kisses down to your stomach before resting his head there, seemingly more tired than he'd thought he was. You giggled again, stroking his head gently.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Mhm."

"You sure?"

"Yes," you said with a smile.

"Good."

He stayed there a while longer, resting on you like a pillow, swirling his fingers over your hips and stomach as you played with his hair.

"Ben..." you said quietly.

"Mm?"

"Don't leave me tonight."

He lifted his head to look at you. "I won't."

You nodded with a smile.

He shuffled up the mattress to lay at your side, draping a leg over yours and pulling you into him. You nuzzled your face into his neck and closed your eyes.

You didn't think this place could feel any more like home. But with him there, you would happily never leave.

You woke groggy and confused, the side of your face stuck to Father Benedict's bare chest. You had no idea of the time, but the sky was still pitch black outside, the room colder than it was when you fell asleep. You sat up and began shuffling to the edge of the mattress when you felt him grab your arm with a sleepy grumble. You turned back to see him squinting at you in a half-sleepy state, shushing him softly and gently releasing your arm from his grasp.

"I'm just going to get some water," you whispered.

He relaxed back into the mattress and closed his eyes. You smiled and climbed to your feet, walking out of the bedroom as quietly as you could.

You didn't bother to cover up. It was one of the joys of living alone, people would always say, being able to walk around naked. You never understood why anyone would do that, but as you padded through the flat and into the kitchen, completely unclothed, you felt like you finally got the appeal.

You glanced at the clock on the cooker - 2:34am - wondering what the hell made you stir from sleep at that time. Then you tried to swallow, your throat so dry it seemed to stick closed, and you realised that was why. You took a glass from the draining board and pulled your new water filter out of the fridge, pouring just enough for you to swill your mouth out. Then you poured a full glass, gulping it down without stopping.

Father Benedict pushed through the kitchen door, the sudden noise making you jump in fright.

"Sorry," he said, his voice low and croaky.

He was naked too, his hair wild and messy, eyes still half-lidded with sleep.

"It's okay." You put your glass down. "I didn't mean to disturb you when I got up."

"Don't worry." He pointed to his mouth. "Could do with a drink as well."

You padded around the kitchen together in a comfortable silence, naked in more than just body. Moonlight filtered in through the window, casting a milky glow across your skin, making everything seem soft, calm. You stretched on your tiptoes to reach a glass from the cupboard, handing it to him as he grabbed the water filter off the counter. You rinsed your glass at the sink as he guzzled down two lots of water, one after the other. Then you took his glass when he was done, rinsing it and placing it side-by-side with yours on the draining board.

You felt him press his body against your back as you stood at the sink, placing a kiss on the side of your head, another on the back of your shoulder. You let your head fall back against his chest, basking in the feeling of his hands as they roamed your body; squeezing your breasts and dipping between your legs. He slid a finger through the slick he'd left there and you hummed softly, tilting your head to give him access to your neck. He nipped you with his teeth, soothing the sting with a kiss, and you closed your eyes as his finger slid into your pussy. It was brief, shallow, but enough to make your stomach flutter.

He brought his lips to your ear. "I like that there's still a part of me inside you."

You shivered, composing yourself quickly and turning your head to look at him from the corner of your eye. "Only because I fell asleep."

He gave a short, deep chuckle, his voice so gruff and low you could feel it vibrating against your ear. He inhaled deeply through his nose, letting it out in a calm, quiet breath. "Bend over."

You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him again.

He squeezed your backside. "If you want to, that is..."

He fucked you in the kitchen, tiredness doing little to deter his stamina, and afterwards he carried you back to bed, stroking your hair and holding you until you drifted off again. The next time you stirred, it was you who wanted him, nudging him awake and straddling his lap, riding his cock until your body gave out, your mutual climax coming quick and with little effort.

Your joints ached, skin peppered with love bites and fingertip bruises, hair sticking to the nape of your neck with sweat. But you didn't care. It was all evidence of him, memories that would echo in the days that followed.

The mattress shifted. You opened your eyes to the room illuminated in the faint light of dawn. You blinked through the grit in your vision to see Father Benedict putting on his clothes, trying to be quiet as he hopped into his jeans and searched the floor for his t-shirt. He turned to find you sitting up watching him, making his way around to your side and crouching to bring himself face-to-face with you.

"I have to get to the church," he said.

"Okay," you croaked, shifting to get up.

"Hey, it's alright, you stay there and I'll let myself out."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Go back to sleep, it's still early."

"Okay."

He tilted your chin up with his finger and leaned in to kiss you.

It was gentle, lingering, like he didn't want it to end. And when he finally broke away, he pressed his forehead to yours.

"Goodbye, Ellis."

"Bye."

You watched him leave, listening as the slam of your front door echoed through the flat. Only then did you lie back down, pressing your face to the pillow he'd slept on and giving in to slumber once more.

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utilitycaster · 4 months ago

Note

You who are wise in the way of Exandria (helps run the readable wiki), maybe you could tell me or point me in the right direction. There's been several statements that the Pantheon gets their power from their followers, that feed on their faith/worship/prayers. One of the Vanguard says something to this effect, and Deanna seems to subscribe to this belief as well, and I think I sort of thought this as well pre-Downfall. But is there any actual evidence for this?

Hey anon, thank you!

The short answer: it's really unclear even from the text precisely what's going on, likely because this is foundational lore of Exandria that's existed since pre-stream and it's changed over time as different players and GMs have brought in new perspectives. The most I would say is that the gods of the pantheon do not require worship as a condition of their existence.

The longer answer:

The gods appear to be independently powerful, which would make sense, since they are effectively extra-terrestrial or extra-planar entities of possibility solidified into specific embodiments of concepts, ie, when in physical form on the material plane they are just creatures with their own power. We see that the Everlight's power during Downfall, for example, does not seem diminished even though nearly all of her worshipers were killed by Asmodeus.

However, we also see that when in mortal form, the avatars do gain power from worship and specifically from being in places where they are worshiped. We also know that while he's not of the pantheon, the reason Artagan has the ability to grant divine power as though he were a god is because he is worshiped as one by Jester.

My personal interpretation, and I want to stress this paragraph is very much only an interpretation and not canon, is that while the gods are in mortal form, they need worship to access those truly divine abilities, but while in full godly form they do not - ie, the pantheon doesn't seem to need to be worshiped to have the powers of a god, since that is simply what they are as beings, but should they limit their forms or should an entity who is not of that same classification of being (ie, Tengarian, mortal who has used the Rites of Ascension, or whatever the fuck the Chained Oblivion is) wish to have the powers of a god, they do need worship.

Now: the above relates to entities who are on the material plane. This isn't the case with the divine gate. Because the gods of the pantheon now must act through mortals, it is functionally true that unless they have worshipers within the world, their ability to influence anything in the world is greatly limited if they don't have worshipers. The wiki source on The Everlight's influence being weakened/diminished is a Reddit post from Matt 8 years ago and again, that's influence, not raw ability. When we encounter her in Campaign 1, The Everlight is still able to do everything any other god can do; she just isn't as well-known within Exandria.

The Vanguard member who says mortals are food for the gods is Tuldus in episode 44 and he does not explain how this is. Obviously he's not going to be an objective source here, as a cult member under interrogation with valid resentment towards whatever religious institution under which he was brought up, but we have not seen evidence of the gods needing mortal prayer or worship other than again, to act within the Prime Material Plane from the other side of the Divine Gate. FRIDA says that they believe their worship "charges" the gods (episode 52) but also doesn't provide evidence; it's just their belief.

So this is a long way to say that the gods do ask things of their followers, particularly those followers who gain powers from them, but that seems to be strictly for the purposes of acting within the world from behind the Divine Gate. Any feeding off of mortal worship when in full god form and not a mortal avatar form is purely speculative, and such worship of their mortal forms as we saw in Downfall was freely, if in SILAHA's case unknowingly given, and did not seem to drain his followers in any way nor even require them to know it was worship. In terms of having power as present physical entities either pre-Divergence or in their realms post-Divergence, we don't know if they require anything. At minimum they can go a very, very long time without major worship with no loss of power.

#answered #Anonymous #critical role #cr downfall

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emptypapertowelholdermodelx · 5 months ago

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weekly rituals with my deities - a study in motivation, worship, routine, & relationships

while working with apollo today he approached the subject of my lack of relationship with the deities i have been worshipping. he acknowledged how it bothered me. while praying to hekate, she pushed the word “try” into my mind several times as i lamented about how i “couldn’t” keep up with everyone i wanted to, and how my faith was waning as i lacked devotion, focus, and motivation. apollo and hekate, together, suggested i pick a day of the week to worship each deity separately. j can continue my small, daily routines (sleep for hypnos, yoga for the morrigan, pills for apollo, etc.), but i may find it easier to pick a day to devote to each deity as well. i worship seven deities, and there are conveniently seven days in the week.

all of this was confirmed when i saw a post here about how i should do the same. i knew apollo and hekate sent the post my way to confirm what they were already telling me - sign, if you will. confirmation.

in that case, i’m writing my routines and devotional acts out here, as a way to stay motivated, accountable, and have it on hand whenever i need it.

every day i plan to pray to them more intensely than usual and offer something small, whether that be a portion of my meal, a flower i found, or a cool rock.

sunday; apollo’s day. pray to him, offer something to him. sunbathe in the window, or outside, in the morning. make a point to dedicate my medicine-taking to him. journal a little, and do a weekly tarot spread to honor his divination aspect.

monday; the morrigan’s day. pray to her, offer something to her. read one of my books about her. do an intense yoga routine to get the blood pumping - no skipping out on this! journal while praying to her.

tuesday; anpu’s day. pray to him, offer something to him. do some shadow work - this could be free writing, a tarot spread accompanied by journaling, or following some prompts. i’ve found that anpu really appreciates when i perform shadow work, and as a death deity, i think ill start a trend of working through my death trauma with him on tuesdays.

wednesday; hyacinthus’ day. pray to him, offer something to him. on wednesdays i will make a point to talk and pray to him while i water my plants, pick weeds, and check on the overall health of my garden and health plants. i’d like to also do some introspective journaling on love and the trauma i am working through, as hyacinthus’ main goal with me is to build a healthy relationship with my partner.

thursday; hypnos’ day. a soft, calm day. not much goes on. i offer to him, and pray to him. perhaps i can take an extra long nap. i can cleanse my bed altar, make it all tidy, and do some devotional prayers and restful activities in bed. i will also make a point to dedicate that night’s sleep to him, and invoke him to appear in my dreams if he’s willing.

friday; hekate’s day. offer to her and pray to her. read one of my books about her. perform a magical spell or ritual, no matter how big or small. right now it’s hard to do full blown spells as i’m working in the broom closet at my christian sisters house, so i don’t have much of my supplies. but manifestation and intention setting will be one way i can accomplish this.

saturday; hestia’s day. pray to her and offer to her. clean my room and tidy up my space in dedication to her. light a candle while i pray to her, and let her energy fill my room. maybe do some baking in her honor, like a sweet desert or an attempt at bread.

i am hoping to follow this routine for my gods and myself. this will help me refocus on my practice and get in touch my deities again, who i’ve been slightly neglecting in favor of doing nothing all day.

i had an insightful time with apollo and hekate, and hope they’re proud of me as i implement their ideas into the coming weeks <3

#witchcraft #witch #pagan #paganism #witchythings #deity work #anubis deity #tarot cards #deityjournal #hekate deity #the morrigan deity #apollo deity #hestia deity #hypnos deity #hyacinthus deity #sorry this is so long

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starlightbooklove · 10 months ago

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Ok, I finally saw Journey to Bethlehem and I can't begin to express how much I loved it, I'm a very difficult person to like a full musical, which is why movies like west side story and in the heights I only liked a few songs, like as movies in general they are good, but not to my personal taste.

Furthermore, the Christian film market usually ranges from very similar, commercial and honestly boring films, to 'reinterpretations' that remove plots and things that do not go at all with the Original material So I wasn't too confident in how good the trailer looked but I was willing to give it a look, thank goodness I did.

As a Christian who was raised in the church with a Christian family, my view of religion was quite Biased by their way of looking at it Which wasn't bad, but I was focused on the religious point of view sometimes excessively, so over time as I grew up and got to know the world around me, I moved away from that, And then after I grew up I returned to wanting to learn for myself without biased opinions about the Bible and to be able to understand it and really feel what everyone said they felt.

And so I came to the conclusion that You can save your self a Lot of time, if you just read the bible as what it is: a book, full of human people with a lot of imperfections, murky, miraculous, heartbreaking, crazy, steamy and even funny (yes, I'm not lying) stories. Religion, so focused on an idea that sometimes not even the Bible itself shares, forgets the human part that fills the stories, which is not very described in it either, but that one can easily interpret.

And thanks to this, criticism of Christians is very well founded on several occasions, and many people have the mistaken idea that the Bible is a 'holy book of holy people'.

That there is nothing more false, the book is holy or is different, unique and/or sacred because of how it was written and because of the stories that happen in it And how accompanied by prayer and the real desire to want to know, you can learn a lot no matter how many times you read it, not because of the people who lived them.

Who were they, let me tell you the test of God's patience.

Do you know Moses? The dude who divided the sea (by God's guidance), did you knew that (this one's funny), thanks to the people he brought out of Egypt after the plagues and that he have to spend 40 years with them in the desert? 🙃 no, it's not a joke and no, it's not an interpretation, literally thanks to the almost constant disobedience of the Israelis after being liberated they were punished with that, and the worst thing is that God had reasons, and I'll give you an example of that, these people decided to worship a damn golden cow that they built Because Moses had taken a long time to return from talking to God (when he went to look for the commandments ironically) less than a year after being freed by God from slavery.

Moses broke the first tables of commandments out of anger, and had to go look for them again, I repeat, no, I'm not playing, this is how it happened in the Bible And it was not only for this reason that they had to stay, it was a list of things that these people did, having as a testimony and example just by being free, still had Incredible faith problems.

The generation that left Egypt never saw or lived in the promised land, the only one who saw it out of mercy was Moses, but it was the descendants who managed to enter the promised land.

Haaa, bet you didn't knew that..

So, as you can see, no, not holy and/or perfect people at all. You might wonder, what does this have to do with the movie? And I will answer you, sorry, i got inspired, but the thing is, this is basically the context of why I liked it so much.

Journey to Bethlehem, it is the story of the birth of Jesus if we remove the religion and the holy holy beautiful peacefull look that some churches like to sell, and start to unite our 4 neurons and think about what, humanly, those people thought and did under the context of that time With fire songs, good performances, very good acting, and Milo (I'm not going to elaborate, I'll just say that I gained a tremendous crush on this man lmao)

And I want to list my favorite points from this in the movie.

-The representation of Mary

Arguably my favorite part of the movie, like, this woman really made me feel what it must have been like for her to carry the son of God.

Because N1: Mary is painted as this woman rejoicing in the news that she will become pregnant overnight when she is engaged, not married, in a patriarchal society With around 1000 laws about what you can and cannot do and the things you cannot do are punishable by death, One of them being being pregnant or having a child out of marriage 🙃🤭 what a blessing right?

And N2: For years Mary has been said to be holy and worshiped when she probably wouldn't approve of that herself, since she grew up with scriptures that said they couldn't worship idols. And they made her an idol. Something to make clear is that the only holy human, biblically speaking, is Jesus. Mary was a virgin, not a saint, she had more children with her husband after having Jesus, she had a life beyond him.

And this movie brings that out, it makes the most of it and I love it.

It shows what a struggle it must have been for her to have such a burden on her, she was young (in those days people married young), perhaps a teenager, Yes, they were raised differently and at the end of the day he was about to get married, but still, as I said, the Bible leaves out a lot of the human factor.

It can say that it passes a beginning and an end but it does not give you the means to connect both parts In the Bible, Mary respectfully accepts the news that she is going to have a baby, and the film respects that, but Mary was human, you know the fear and absolute madness must cause that an angel to appear to you out of nowhere and tell you that you are going to have a son who is going to be savior and king and then disappear (appreciation for the angel Gabriel btw My man would be me if i was an angel lmao) How the hell do you explain that to your parents? To your fiancé, no matter how versed everyone was in the scriptures, no one, NO ONE thought Jesus was going to be born from a humble virgin, Literally part of the reason (spoiler alert lmao) Jesus was killed was because no one believed that the king they were waiting for was a simple carpenter who was born in a manger. This probably included Mary herself, certainly her parents, and much more, Joseph. And she knew it, of course she knew it, she knew it was true but she had to know how hard it was to believe it and how much trouble she could get into for being pregnant. It's kind of expected that Mary would have doubts, rightly so which is why I love love the song "mother to a savior and king" i just feel that it had to be exactly what she thought.

... Give me eyes to see

Just how I can be

Carrying your son when I need You

To carry me

...Should a miracle feel like an anchor

Bringing shame upon my family

This burden is too heavy

I need strength to be

A mother to a savior and king

... You said, "Do not fear"

So Lord, if you are here

Help me have the faith you have in me

Give me eyes to see just how I can be

Mother to a savior

When I need saving

Like aaaa Chills, literal chills And I love it because it doesn't occur to people how society must have seen Mary, we see it as a blessing because we know how it all ended, but they didn't know. And they lived in a very very different society, if everyone had found out, they would have stoned Mary, that is the reality that they don't talk much about at Christmas.

Another fact that I liked is that Mary had to travel, traveling in this time does not imply the same as traveling in that time, with her 9 months of pregnancy (Because she gave birth as soon as she arrived in Bethlehem) on a donkey 🙃🙃🙃🙃 I don't think I have to elaborate much, i love how they portrayed here. You can say people knew how things were, they were used to it, yes, but Maria had never been pregnant and no matter how adapted you are to something, You can't erase the physical challenge of traveling with a giant belly in those conditions.

And let's not even talk about the birth, where they were in the city that: it was full of soldiers seeking to kill her and her baby, they broadcast the news that they would be killing babies and pregnant mothers In search of finding her, which is why they did not find asylum and had to go to a stable.

I think with the idea of ☺️ ah, Jesus was born in a manger ☺️We forget that 💀 oh, Jesus was born in a manger 💀 I don't know about you, but I think that is not the ideal place to give birth And yet the representations of that are so sugar coated We literally have a song called "Silent Night" tell me, explain to me what part of giving birth where the animals and their excrement are because an entire army is chasing you trying to kill you, sounds like a peaceful night????

Another detail is that Joseph (who I am obviously going to talk about) logically had to act as midwife for Mary, because no one was with them, no one wanted to be with them, that sounds like a horror story honestly, and no, I'm not taking away from how beautiful the whole purpose of Jesus is and everything is.

I am only pointing out the facts, which are raw and very Real about a situation like this, this was the reality as it is written, the Bible leaves things out But the rawness in several acts is never lacking.

One last thing to add is that I was afraid at first that they would portray Mary as a feminist ahead (by centuries) of her time But in an annoying and very political way because of how the movie started, And that they were going to make her not want the pregnancy and make it as if they had violently forced her, thank God that didn't happen, i loved her, The actress did a tremendous job interpreting her with personality without losing the respect (that is noted in the Bible) Mary had for God and the giant task she was given, and I actually liked that twist That perhaps Mary and Joseph did not know each other before they got engaged, which would not be unusual at that time. And that Mary said at the beginning of the movie that she believed she was destined for bigger things 🙃.They give more personality to this icon that we all have of her and I love it.

-The representation of Joseph

Starting with the fact that I have a big fat crush now on Milo Mannheim thanks to him (not important at all actually)

I think everyone, whether Christian or not, knows that Joseph is a secondary character every time the story of Jesus' birth is mentioned, even invisible I dare say. And I was always curious because of how he leaves after he is born in the Bible, it is simply not mentioned again and this is why I think there is this kind of unconscious belief that Jesus only had one parental figure and that was Mary.

When this can easily be contradicted by the little information we have in the Bible; Joseph was known as Joseph the carpenter, and who ended up being a carpenter? (Flashbacks to Sabrina lmao) Jesus, No matter how holy and amazing he was, Jesus grew up having to learn things, he wasn't born knowing, and obviously Mary didn't teach him how to work with wood so it's pretty logical to think that his stepfather (idk How to call it) taught him. That even if we leave this out (which is after the birth of Jesus) Joseph was THE man ok And this is with biblical foundation, he believed Mary and decided to continue with the wedding despite how crazy it all sounded, he helped her during the trip to Bethlehem, ALONE, he had to practically attend the birth

And the film captures that so, so well, I have no words to describe how impressed and excited I was to see how they highlighted so many things that I knew because yk, they are in the Bible but I hadn't been aware of noticing before.

How difficult it must have been for him to make the decision to believe Mary (which, let's be honest, takes a lot of faith to believe something like that) To follow her, and his song, my God, his song is so good. It's perfect for showing a morally gray human decision and the way he delivered that presentation ugh I just feel from my heart that it was exactly what Joseph thought. Cause:

I'm completely torn in two

Half of me believes her,

while the other half needs proof

This was no inmaculate conception

Just the ultimate deception

Gilty to the bone we should have her stoned now

Wait don't you throw your stoned no don't yoy judge her i look into her eyes i think i love her

I just 🫠🫠🫠 Jesus Christ

You don't come out of that movie without half falling for Joseph and that's something I never imagined saying in my life lmao

It was a very human way, full of personality and commitment, to portray the character. beyond the attractiveness of both the actor and the goofy personality they gave him. They gave it this degree of seriousness and part of the story that shows very clearly what they themselves say in the film and that is that God did not choose only Mary, She couldn't do everything she had to do alone, and among those things was raising a child that was given to her overnight and that she had to carry for nine months, and that does not deviate from history even though there are those who say no, it is written but I think it needed the human interpretation for people to see it, as I feel that they need with many stories from the bible. They definitely took their liberty to create the love story and I'm not complaining, I never thought at all that there must have been a lot of love both between them and for God for them to be able to go through all of that, And I like to believe that if it was like that, the love they had for each other, because only someone who loves another person so much is willing to go through all that, cause very easily Joseph could receive confirmation from God that what Mary said was true and say well, that's not my problem, but he decided to take responsibility with her, Which shows why God chose them, so yes, it has its freedoms but I don't think it is essentially far from reality.

Herodes

O. M. GOOOOODDD.

Antonio Banderas ate with his performance because damn I could feel the arrogance, the complete pleasure that those kings had for being rich and powerful, with that man And he didn't have much screen time, despite how comical he gets at times he manages to show how dangerous Herod was.

That, they didn't show it but that man ordered babies and pregnant mothers to be killed in the end, just for fear that they would take away his throne and his power, out of complete caress. And Antonio showed a funny and iconic man but also dangerous and capable of that and, and also they gave him the best song.

And i'm not Even joking, 'good to be king' is what Disney tried (and failed) to do with "Wish", It has all the magic and that lyricism that shows rough and raw things with incredible music That sticks to you despite how bad the bad guy is, from the villain songs of Disney's 2D movies, It's at the level of "poor unfortunate souls" and the Interpretation, God It's one of the best parts of the movie, weeks go by and I still can't get it out of my head

Finally, the relationship of Mary and Joseph.

I feel that all our lives, after thousands of times telling us the story of the birth of Jesus, the relationship of Mary and Joseph never had any importance beyond their role in the birth. So I loved the representation of that here, the way they took this theme of a planned marriage, which could very easily have been a reality, Along with the human and emotional reaction that these people must have had at the time, they give life and depth to Mary and Joseph, with the pros and cons.

With how difficult it was but also how strong they must have been as a couple to carry out the huge task they had, it made me see it from a more human point of view and give more value to their relationship.

They took their liberties, there are things that are super funny and have that absurd touch, but it is a story full of a lot of respect for the source, and full of a wonderful and human interpretation of of this great story, You don't feel it is religious, because it isn't, the music isn't just there and they are all very good (something that doesn't happen with all musicals).

And it is simply beautiful, it is made with love and it shows, they took advantage of every penny of their budget and put out this piece of art that I feel everyone should see for Christmas And that I would like to tattoo permanently on my brain lmao.

Go watch it, it's absolutely worth it.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading my entire almost essay of the movie, I hope you find your Joseph in life🫶😂

#journey to bethlehem #milo manheim #fiona palomo #antonio banderas #christian movies #christianity

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hauntedhokage · 1 year ago

Text

salvation

Priest!Nanami Kento/F!Reader

word count: 2k

summary: you’ve been avoiding the church, the weight of your unabsolved sins sits heavy on your shoulders, and you know that he knows. he could always see right through you.

warnings: MDNI, priest kink, blasphemy up the ass, references to sexual content (sex in a church and unprotected sex), unintended use of a rosary & prayer, manipulation, Nanami refers to reader as “lamb” and “little one”, this is not their first meeting, established…something, reader is some kind of devout to Nanami and not necessarily to the religion itself at this point,

note: this is heavily inspired by my experience in church (read: very catholic), but I was also trying to lean more into my own vision of “cult-religion” while not explicitly naming any particular religion that reader and Nanami are failing at practicing. Technically this is act iii but idk if I’ll write the acts i & ii that are in mind.

AO3 | Nanami Masterlist | All Masterlists | Ko-fi |

You’d been avoiding the church.

Always conveniently scheduled to work during the different scheduled mass times, and the one time you hadn’t been working you’d faked sick. Faking sick again wasn’t an option, as you were still working through the various meals that were brought your way to help you feel better and didn’t need any additional tupperware to wash and return to your neighbors. Your boss hadn’t scheduled you during Mass in a while, stating that he knew how much going meant to you and now that business was a bit slower he could afford to give you that time back. Everyone wanted you back in that church, sharing the house of worship and the teachings being preached because they all felt you needed it.

What it provided, you didn’t know. It used to feel natural to be there, enlightening even. Confessional once lifted the weight of your transgressions and had you feeling lighter with the knowledge that your path had been redirected. The reassurance that the gates of heaven had not yet been shut to you, the feeling of light that came when you were told that you were still part of His flock, safe from the fiery darkness of hell - nothing topped that feeling.

But it wasn��t that you were avoiding the church.

You were hiding from Father Kento.

He knew you better than anybody else did at this point, and you hadn’t known him long. It had been maybe six months since he’d come to replace the older priest who had passed away, and how quickly he’d drawn you in - like a moth to his flame and you were trying to avoid getting burnt. He was a priest, after all, even if everything you knew about him went against your understanding of what priests actually did. But maybe that was what you liked about him? Father Kento to you was a completely different man than he was to anybody else, you knew him better because you’d been blessed with the opportunity to see more of him. He’d taken “priestly liberties” to see to your salvation, took special care of you as his most precious lamb, and this was how you repaid him and his kindness? Avoiding he who had given so much to you?

“You look troubled, little lamb.”

And there he was. Always there when you seemed to be thinking about him the most, only in the last few weeks you’d turned away when you saw him at the market or on your way to or from work. Today, though, there is no avoiding him for he’s standing right in front of you. A gentle hand on your elbow (to steady you, would be his cover for a touch so intimate), eyes looking right through you it seemed.

“Good evening, Father,” you greet, smile soft yet still uncertain as you meet that piercing gaze. “How are you?”

“I’ve been worried about you, but I’m well.” There it was, so quickly to the point yet still managing to be indirect given the public setting that was the middle of the sidewalk. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been alright. Busy, then-”

“Then you weren’t well, yes?”

“That’s where I need to confess.” Your admission earns a quirked brow, the ghost of a smile gracing his features under the streetlight as he gives your arm a squeeze.

“Would you like to come with me to the church? Somewhere private where we can talk and hopefully provide some solace to that troubled mind.”

Another act of familiarity, this time his thumb gently running up from the bridge of your nose and between your eyes to smooth out your furrowed brow. A gentle pat to the top of your head follows when you nod, and that has him smiling as he gives a nod of his own before turning to lead you back towards the church. During the walk you tell him about your day, how work was and sharing a fun fact you’d learned that day. In turn he tells you what he can about his, out of interest to respect the private lives of others in the parish. It’s natural, nobody would assume any less than holy intentions to see you being guided down the sidewalk by Father Kento.

But as soon as you’re inside the walls of the church, the loud click ringing through your ears signaling that you were alone with him and would see no intrusion, you feel almost like a lamb being presented for sacrifice.

He follows you to where you usually sat shen it was just the two of you in the large building, on the steps in front of the pews, beneath the stained glass but out of its reach when the light shone through at most hours of the day. He does what he always did, dimming the lights before lighting the candles that would provide more intimate lighting for the conversations yet to come.

Father Kento always made you feel special.

“Where’ve you been, little one? I miss seeing you front and center at mass.”

That was where you were nervous. To tell him what was on your mind, as well as the things that you’d been doing in lieu of attending church and confession, wasn’t going to be easy. He’d be disappointed, and you think for a moment that maybe that’s what you were hiding from. Not Father Kento himself, but the disappointed look in his eyes when you confessed to him that you failed to resist temptation - failed to come to him for protection from that temptation.

But you tell him anyway, sparing no detail as you know the only way to be absolved of your sins was to confess them. He does an excellent job of keeping his face neutral, hands idly turning his rosary as he listens, and that helps you to ensure that you maintain that honesty. You knew it would hurt him to hear that you’d let another man touch you, that you were hiding from his disappointment, that you were afraid of being a distraction from his work. By the time you’re done your own hands are in his, wrapped in his rosary which eased their shakiness and brought a great deal of comfort.

“I’m sorry that you felt that you couldn’t find sanctuary here,” he murmurs, carefully pressing his forehead to yours. “You should know that I would never judge, and am always here to help you cleanse your sins.”

“I know, I know,” you whisper, looking down at your joined hands. The crystal beads don’t feel as heavy on your skin as they had when he’d started to bring them around your skin, which helps considerably but doesn’t completely relieve you. “I’m sorry, Father, sorry that my faith in you became so weak.”

“God forgave you as soon as you entered his House.”

“But have you forgiven me, Father?” The question brings him pause, and you know why it would. In his eyes, God’s forgiveness should be most important to you, and if God can forgive why would you need to hear anything else? He liked to tease that you were constantly testing him, but this wasn’t a test. This was how you truly felt, and you feared his reaction but you still finish your thought to improve his understanding of your situation. “God’s love means nothing if I don’t have yours.”

“My love for you has not waned in your absence. You are forgiven for your transgressions, my lamb, and I would like to reassure you in that forgiveness.”

You’re kissing him before you can properly process the implication of his words, knowing that what you needed was the specific brand of salvation that only came from Father Kento’s touch. His hands pull from yours, leaving the rosary to hang from your hands as his come to hold your cheeks. Father Kento’s kiss was as he was; calculated and warm, knowing exactly what he needed to do or how he needed to move to maximize your experience in his arms.

“Please do not drop my rosary, sweet lamb,” he mumbles, lips moving to your neck while his hands work to position you on his lap. “It’s key to your salvation this evening.”

Your attempt at assurance that you’d never drop his rosary - or anything of his, really - is cut off by a whine when sharp teeth dig into your shoulder. A signal to God, he’d said once, to let him know that you’d bled for your faith and did so willingly. You have to separate your hands so he can pull your shirt over your head, and he pulls the cross that now dangles against your forearm into his mouth as he looks up at you through his lashes. Perhaps it's a reminder to be careful, a reminder of where your faith should lie, but you take it as an invitation and press your mouth to his in an open kiss around the quickly warming metal.

“I have to properly present you to God, little lamb. Ensure that he can properly see you embrace your salvation.” And you know exactly what he means as you finally pull yourself from him, letting the spit slick rosary fall against your arm once more before you stand on shaky legs. You needed to bare yourself before God and the Father, present yourself at the altar to accept your salvation. Akin to taking the sacrament, but this brand of salvation was reserved specifically for you - for Father Kento’s favorite little lamb.

There's a symbolism here that you can’t miss as he lifts you onto the altar - the focal point of the church beneath the intricate stained glass windows depicting images of peace and holiness.

The lamb presented for sacrifice as she’s laid atop the altar, but there’s no knife in his hand. Even if there was, you would only feel reverence for the man standing before you - the man you trusted with your life. You were his little lamb, his favorite within the flock to be used as an example but never to be harmed. If you were ever sacrificed; you’d be reincarnated to once again be his favorite, he’d said it himself that in every instance of your shared existence that he knew he would always find you. The shepherd tends to the flock, always, and a lost lamb would find her way home to the shepherd who loved her so dearly.

“Are you ready to embrace salvation?”

“Please, Father.” Your hand searches for him, something that you can hold onto when you feel his tip slide through your folds. His hand catches yours, the tight grip pressing the rosary beads into the tender flesh of your palm to the point where you know you’ll see indentations from the intricate bead and metalwork decorating your skin. Another reminder of your repentance to join the soft bruises on your hips, markings on your shoulder, and the remnants of Father Kento’s holy essence that would be left inside you once he’d finished.

You were far from pure, but so was he. Figuring out where he lost any hope of the salvation he preached would take months of carefully placed questions, but you knew when you’d lost your own. He was unassuming, a kind priest who followed the path lit by God’s light, but at the same time all consuming as he ravaged you from the inside out. Your road to hell had not been paved with good intentions, as he’d intended on dragging you down with him on his own road to damnation.

But Hell didn’t seem so bad to you if it would be his, too.

Despite it all, you’d follow him anywhere, if he asked you to go. It wasn’t any god that you prayed to when referring to a Father in your prayers, for Kento was the only Father you prayed to. Your heavenly father, and you know that you will not stray far from his side again.

You knew better than to hurt yourself like that again.

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